


For The Longest Time

by obstinatrix, seutedeern



Category: X-Men (Movies), X-Men - All Media Types, X-Men: Days of Future Past (2014) - Fandom, X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, Sibling Incest, Slow Build, no powers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-06
Updated: 2014-10-27
Packaged: 2018-02-20 04:23:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 52,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2414795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/obstinatrix/pseuds/obstinatrix, https://archiveofourown.org/users/seutedeern/pseuds/seutedeern
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charles has always considered himself to be straight, but when he bumps into a new German student in the university library, there's a strange, unmistakable pull between them that goes beyond Charles's comprehension. Why does he feel like he's known Erik all his life? And why is he so jealous of the attraction between Erik and his friend Raven?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Charles was only a toddler when his parents split up. Years later, he wouldn’t be able to remember much for the life of him how his life was back then when his family was complete; just a flicker of the ghost of a memory came back to him occasionally, not more. His mother had taken him after the divorce and moved to England with him, where he grew up safe and sound, protected by money and the lofty social circles his mother preferred to move in when she wasn’t in the company of her much beloved red wine bottle. While Charles grew up mostly alone, educated by teachers and nannies who seemed to change every few months, he was mostly content with the quiet life he was leading. Certainly, there were times when he wished his mother would grant him more attention than just a brief conversation every once in a while, but his books comforted him well enough.

Still, there were times, mostly when he awoke from a dream, when he felt a certain sense of loss. He didn’t understand where exactly those particular feelings came from which left him confused, a deep sense of sadness within his very core, but usually he managed to overcome them by simply reading a book until dawn or playing games until he felt better.

Charles never dared to ask his mother about their past, what had happened to their family or why they were alone. Only on a few occasions had he been brave enough to ask her, but her immediate reprimands had always shut him up immediately.

From what he had gathered, his parents had tried to have a child before Charles but it had died of sudden infant death while they had been asleep. Charles’s birth had been an attempt to fix their broken marriage, to help the young parents overcome their grief at the loss of their first baby. It had never really worked out, though. In the end, Charles’s father, a German whose name he never got to know, went back to Germany, and Sharon decided to move back to England with Charles. The fact that his father had apparently never tried to seek contact with his son, had never tried to put up a fight when it came to custody, left a bitter feeling in Charles’s heart.

Nevertheless, Charles had always hoped that perhaps one day, he could talk to his mother like a reasonable grown-up about their past. He simply needed to know who his father was.

It was during his second term at Oxford, however, that Charles received the news of his mother’s sudden death. Along with his chance to grow closer to his mother, gone also were his hopes of learning more about his family.

In many ways, it was this loss that hit Charles the hardest. Sharon had never been more than a shadow in his life, a memory of empty bottles and sharp red fingernails like talons. When she sobered up long enough to leave the house, she'd been a socialite, thriving in the company of her glittering society 'friends'. Charles didn't doubt that, somewhere along the line, she had been hurt badly, and he never wished her ill. But he and his mother were nothing alike. Charles was bookish, quiet. For as long as he could remember, he'd been fascinated by the world around him. Reading Biology at Oxford had been his ambition from the age of ten. And Charles couldn't help wondering if, somewhere out there, he had a father with Charles's own blue eyes and pale, freckled complexion, who liked quietude and chess and log fires in winter. Someone like himself. Now, he would never know. 

In many ways, he was far worse off than if he'd been adopted. There were no agencies to contact. His birth certificate hadn't turned up among his mother's things, and he couldn't ask for another one -- after all, he had no idea where he'd been born. And so, here he was, by default an orphan, embarking upon a new life for himself. His family was a lost cause. By the end of Hilary term, Charles had accepted this. The big country house was his, now, and he could design himself however he liked, without fear of Sharon's disinterest or disapproval. If his studies were all he had, then Charles would throw himself into them wholeheartedly. 

This resolution lasted approximately a week into Trinity term. Oxford was glorious in spring, the trees heavy with blossom, the yellow light glowing on the sandstone of the churches and colleges. But Charles, unlike many of his peers, wasn't distracted by the sunshine or the promise of lazy afternoons on the river. On the contrary, his resolution ran into trouble on the second floor of the Radcliffe Science Library, when he walked, head-down, into a stranger's chest between the bookstacks. 

"Sorry -- "

"No, no, I'm sorry, let me help you…" 

The stranger bent to gather the books that had spilled from Charles's arms, head down and long hands working quickly. The accent was German, but slight, a certain sharp edge. It wasn't until the man looked up that Charles registered his face. 

There are people in the world who look, Charles always thought, as if they'd been drawn by the most exquisite of artists, people with faces so ludicrously perfect they seem unreal. This boy -- man -- was one of them. 

It took him a while to register that the stranger was talking to him, his face somewhat worried, and Charles blinked lazily as he cleared his mind and tried to give a coherent reply.

“I-I’m sorry, but what were you saying? I didn’t quite catch that.”

“I asked if you could help me finding the engineering department? I’m supposed to be there in half an hour and I've lost my plan of the university.”

With a small frown, Charles hitched up his books. “Are you new here?”

The stranger smiled,uneasy, as he replied, “Yeah, I just arrived last weekend. I’m doing my master's degree here.”

Charles was only half-listening to what the other man was actually saying, too distracted by the wonderful accent and his looks. While he had broad, strong-looking shoulders, his waist seemed unbelievably tiny compared to them. It was a ridiculous ratio, almost made the man look like a dorito, and yet it was ridiculously attractive. The only thing more sharply compelling than the accent or the shoulders was the man’s jaw line. Charles found his throat had gone dry.

“I see,” he said with a small, embarrassed cough, looking down at the pile of books in his arms. “Well, thankfully I know my way around here and I don't need to be anywhere until one o’clock, so yeah, I can show you where you have to go.”

The stranger only gave him a crooked smile in return.

As they walked out of the building, the stranger had offered to carry some of Charles’s books as a little thank you for being guided to the right department. When they were finally there, and the man had gently put the books on top of those Charles had been carrying, he cleared his throat, and said, “By the way, I haven’t introduced myself yet. My name’s Erik, and you’re actually the first one I’ve properly talked to around here.”

“Erik,” Charles repeated with a smile. God, even his name matched the general air of strength that surrounded this person. “I’m Charles.” Under different circumstances, when he wasn’t carrying about ten heavy books on genetics, he would have offered his hand to Erik. Now, however, he merely stuck out his little finger for Erik to shake, which Erik did with a grin.

“Nice to meet you, Charles.”

They stayed like this for a short moment before Erik heaved a sigh and looked over his shoulder at the entrance. “Well, I better get going. First time to labs; and I don’t want to be too late.”

Charles nodded. “Which is understandable. Perhaps we’ll meet again, who knows.”

Erik gave a little nod, hitched up his rucksack which he carried over one shoulder, and then he disappeared into the building, leaving a rather befuddled Charles behind.

Something about Erik made Charles's head spin, something about the quirk of the smile and the sea-green eyes, the tiny waist and long fingers and -- Charles shook his head, baffled. It wasn't as if he was a homophobe or anything, but he'd never had that sort of reaction to another man. Erik was incredibly handsome, but Charles was self-aware enough to realise that he more than admired him aesthetically. It was weird. 

Not that it mattered, of course. Erik was a master's student, not even in Charles's department. There were any number of colleges that offered Engineering; Charles had ended up at Christ Church, at his mother's insistence, but Erik could have been based anywhere. The likelihood of Charles bumping into that paragon of masculinity again was very small. 

Still. That didn't mean he couldn't indulge himself in a little daydream about the possibility. Something about Erik had seemed familiar, somehow, as if they knew each other. 

"Maybe in a _past life_ ," Charles muttered to himself sardonically, as he entered the staircase where his tutor roomed. Now he was just being stupid. 

The tutorial didn't go well. Charles could feel Dr Sawyer's disapproval, and worse, confusion. Charles was usually an excellent student, incredibly dedicated and moreover, incredibly enthusiastic about the material. He felt bad about it, but he couldn't seem to get his mind back on track. He kept wondering about the boy in the library, _Erik_. Why had he turned up in the middle of the year? Did that even happen? Where was he from? What kind of engineering was he interested in? 

" _Mr_ Xavier." 

Dr Sawyer eyed him over the rims of his spectacles, and Charles shrank back into his chair. 

"Sorry, sir." 

"Yes, well." Dr Sawyer sighed and put down his pen. "Your mind is clearly elsewhere today, Charles, so how about we cut this short? I've got a department meeting to get to, anyway. Maybe you'll be better able to talk about this next week." 

Charles nodded mutely. He felt rather like a naughty child, but on the other hand, he _was_ pretty sure he'd be back on form next week. The encounter with Erik had been a fluke, and it had unnerved him. It wouldn't happen again. 

* 

Somehow, and he wasn’t sure _how_ or when it had happened at all -- but somehow Charles had managed to get Erik off his mind after a few days. At first he had been anxious to see him again, curiosity getting the better of him, and he had loitered about the entrance of the engineering department every morning for some days, hoping he would, through some divine force, bump into Erik again. When that didn’t happen, he still had hopes that perhaps he would catch him at the library, but no such luck. Charles didn’t have much time to feel disappointed, though. His classes required him to study for tests, write essays, do research and prepare presentations of all sorts. The days were filled with work and diligent studying and there was simply no time for Charles to go out of his way trying to meet Erik again -- or, for that matter, trying to figure out why he wanted to see him again at all.

Perhaps he was just curious, maybe he just liked helping people who seemed a little lost and as though they needed guidance, or maybe it was just the German accent that had attracted his attention in the first place.

One way or another, Charles started to gradually forget about Erik as his studies required more and more of his attention, and he didn’t think about the stranger again until almost a month after they had first met.

He was out with Raven and Hank, his best friends since he had started studying at Oxford, celebrating the fact that they'd all managed to pass Collections despite their tutor's promise that they wouldn’t make it out alive. Charles was pleasantly tipsy as he sat with his two friends in their favourite booth in the back of their favourite pub on a Friday night.

Drinking with them was always fun. Usually, Raven would subtly suggest a drinking game, and even though Hank was an utter lightweight, always passing out just when Charles started to get merely light-headed, Raven could hold her liquor far better. It always came down to both of them taking shots until one of them gave up eventually.

“Next round?” Charles suggested while Raven gently prodded at Hank’s shoulder -- the poor boy had passed out on the table, groaning pathetically.

“Sure,” she shrugged, laughing as Hank tried to bat her hand away, muttering something under his breath which sounded a lot like _I hate both of you so fucking much, fuck you, Charles_. Charles took this as his cue to get up and walk over to the bar.

As he approached the counter, the pub owner lifted his eyebrows at Charles, mild-concern in his eyes as he asked, “Another?”

“Another, my friend,” was Charles’s answer, accompanied by a definitely _not_ drunk grin. It didn’t take long for Charles to return to their booth where Raven had managed to coax Hank back to life. While Raven immediately reached for a drink, Hank scrunched up his nose, his face looking a little pale.

“Are you all right?” Charles asked but Raven’s grunt cut him off.

“He’s okay. Let’s start, shall we?”

“All right. On three!” Charles lifted up his glass. “One… Two…” At that precise moment, the door of the pub swung open and in came a certain German student who looked a little cold and in dire need of a drink.

Raven and Hank had emptied their shots without waiting for Charles to finish. When they noticed that he still held his glass aloft with a distant look on his face, they both frowned at him.

“Charles?” Raven said, bemused, waving her hand in front of his face. “Hello?”

He snapped out of it with a jerk, blinking a couple of times before he realised that both his friends were looking at him in confusion.

“I’m sorry,” he apologised and quickly downed his drink, letting out a groan at the strong taste afterwards.

“What were you staring at?” Hank asked but Raven had already found the answer.

“Christ, look at _that_ ,” she sighed. Charles immediately went rigid.

_Oh no._

“Raven,” he pleaded as he reached out for her but she swiftly escaped him before he could do so much as touch her. She moved elegantly through the crowd of drunk students and Charles cursed her for having such a high alcohol tolerance because once she had reached her target, there was no way she would let poor Erik off the hook.

It _annoyed_ him.

While he watched them helplessly, Charles chewed on his thumb, his left knee jerking up and down. What was he supposed to do? He had longed to see that man again, so much, and now he was finally _there_ and yet so far away.

It wasn’t fair.

If he walked over now, Raven would just scowl at him until he shrank away under her murderous stare and slunk back to their table with his tail between his legs. There was no way he could ever draw Erik’s attention from Raven’s beauty.

Erik probably wouldn’t remember him, anyway.

So instead of walking over to them, Charles resigned himself to continue drinking without them while Hank gaped at him. “I thought they were for all of us?”

“Yeah, I thought so, too?” Raven’s voice piped up, and when Charles lifted his gaze, he found that Raven had company.

“Erik!” He really couldn’t stop himself from offering him his brightest smile. Alcohol tended to turn him into the biggest idiot around, and right now, Charles was glad that all his inhibitions seemed to have fucked off to I Don’t Care Land. It certainly helped him to ignore Raven, who had her arm linked with Erik’s.

“Charles, right?” Erik smiled slightly. Charles silently thanked whatever Almighty force there was that Erik remembered him despite the time that had passed.

“You know each other?” Raven asked, one eyebrow lifted. Erik shrugged.

“He helped me on my first day here to find the building for my first lesson.”

“How nice of him.”

“How nice of me, indeed.” Charles parroted dryly. They smiled at each other, and then Raven ushered Erik to sit down and join them with their little game.

“Do you drink?” Hank asked, shoving up his glasses with one elegant hand as Erik settled down next to Charles on the bench of the booth.

“I’m German, is this answer enough?”

To other people, Erik’s smile might have seemed intimidating, but Charles found himself laughing giddily at that, already reaching for another glass.

“In that case, my friend, here’s to you for having joined our illustrious society.”

Raven groaned at that, “Oh, Charles, _please_ , why do you always have to sound like some posh twat when you get drunk? You’re not some old fart, for God’s sake.”

“Don’t be fooled by the tweed jacket,” Hank whispered to Erik.

“Hey! I heard that!” Charles exclaimed, and they all laughed.

The best way to get to know someone who usually seemed a little reserved, as was apparently the case with Erik, was of course through the magic of alcohol. Charles was already verging on delirious while Erik had yet to catch up with their level of drunkenness; nonetheless, Charles was still perfectly capable of interrogating Erik about his life and his studies at Oxford. Of course Raven helped him with the questions, but he liked to imagine that he himself conducted the majority of the background checks.

Erik was German -- who would have thought? -- and came from Düsseldorf. He had moved to Oxford to get his post-graduate degree in Engineering Science and, from the way he talked, Charles could tell that Erik’s intellect could easily keep up with Hank and Charles himself, despite the language barrier. The more drunk Erik got, the more difficult it was for him to find the right vocabulary in English. And while his pronunciation suffered a bit as well, Charles was endeared by the sight of his flushed cheeks and sparkling eyes when he spoke about his hometown.

Nevertheless, he aggressively ignored Raven’s giggles and the way she touched Erik’s biceps every once in a while.

Unfortunately, they had to get out of the pub eventually; it was getting late, and Last Orders were on the way. Charles was reluctant to leave Erik just now, but both Hank and Raven were hopelessly drunk at this point and he felt responsible for getting them home safely. After all, they were neighbours in College accommodation. He wasn’t sure where exactly Erik lived but when he offered to share their cab with him, Erik politely refused.

“Thank you, but I prefer walking when I want to sober up.”

Charles tried not to let his disappointment show (which wasn’t that difficult, anyway, with Hank’s form slumped heavily against him), so he just shrugged. “Suit yourself. If you get murdered on your way home, I won’t take responsibility.”

Erik cracked a smile. “Don’t worry, I’ll be fine.” He paused for a moment, seeming as though he wanted to say something else, but instead he let out a small sigh and said, “Goodnight, Charles. Maybe we’ll see each other again.”

“I hope so, my friend.” Charles smiled back at him and Erik closed the door, patted the cab’s roof, and off they went.


	2. Chapter 2

“Honestly, Charles, if I didn’t know for a fact that you’re as straight as an arrow, I’d say you wanted to fuck that handsome German bloke we met the other day.”

Charles sputtered. “Wha -- I beg your pardon?”

“I said it seems as though you wanted to fu--”

“Yes, yes, _thank you_ , Raven, thank you for your input,” Charles interrupted her in a hushed whisper, glaring at her from across the library table. “Please talk a little louder, I don’t think folks in Timbuktu have heard you yet!”

Raven leaned back with a sigh. “I’m just telling it like it is. Don’t tell me it’s not a little weird that you all of a sudden want to keep Hank company when he’s got to go to the engineering department.”

“Why shouldn't I?” Charles frowned and pushed up his reading glasses that had slipped down his nose. “I’m just being a friend to him as usual.”

“Uh-huh, _as usual_ ,” Raven parrotted, laughing when Charles told her to stop taking the piss out of him.

“You’re a right nuisance, you know that?” Charles muttered under his breath as he pointedly turned to the next page of his genetics book.

“Yeah, just as much as I know that you’ve got a fucking mancrush on Erik.”

“I don’t!” he exclaimed, immediately cringing as he was silenced by the librarian’s loud _shhh!_ , before he repeated with a hiss, “I do not have a crush on Erik, okay? Stop projecting your own feelings onto me.”

Raven eyed him for a long unnerving moment until, finally, she sighed and leaned forward again. “All right, I’m sorry, Charles. You know I love how easily you get flustered. I know you’re not into men.”

“Indeed, I’m not.” He scrunched up his nose, turning his attention back to highlighting his notes. “I’ve had my fair share of girlfriends, thank you very much.”

“And also proposals from young handsome men at every party ever since we’ve started studying here,” Raven teased him but Charles managed to keep his face calm and collected.

“True, but if I had been interested, they would have known.”

“Just like Erik, eh?” Charles gave her one more pointed look and Raven fell silent.

They continued to study quietly for another couple of minutes, Charles already thinking he was safe from further questions, until Raven’s voice piped up again, this time a little more hesitant.

“Do you think he’s got a girlfriend right now?”

Jealousy welled up in Charles's chest, unmistakable. He hoped his voice was steady when he said, "How should I know? Probably. He's too good-looking not to." 

"He didn't bring anyone with him to the pub," Raven pointed out. 

"Maybe she's in Germany," Charles suggested, and Raven shrugged, looking contemplative. 

"Long distance relationships tend to fall apart pretty quick." 

"Raven!" 

That earned them another pointed 'shhhh' from the librarian, and Charles and Raven guiltily fell silent. The truth was, Charles had known since that evening in the pub that Raven was interested in Erik, but her overt question had made his skin prickle. Erik had never been off his mind. Oxford at night wasn't exactly a teeming nucleus of crime, but still, when Charles gingerly awoke the morning after that drunken night, his first thought after 'Jesus Christ, my head' had been of Erik. It was silly to worry, really. Charles himself had taken lengthy walks through the silent centre of Oxford at two in the morning, trying to puzzle through a problem in his mind, and Erik was taller, older, stronger, and altogether scarier-looking than Charles was. Still, Charles found himself wishing he'd asked for Erik's number. 

If only that was a thing one could just _do_ , ask a bloke in a pub to hang out some time without it being construed as a come-on. There was still a large part of Charles which, confusingly, would have _liked_ to come onto Erik, but honestly, after that evening with Raven, he was fairly certain Erik's proclivities ran more towards beautiful young women than skinny little freckled Biologists. Still, the connection Charles felt to Erik, even after only two brief interactions, was remarkable. Why was it that one could ask a stranger out on a date, but not to spend time together learning to be friends? A Friend-Date. It seemed logical to Charles. 

Oh, well. There was no use thinking on and on about it. Erik had been in that pub, hadn't he? Maybe Charles would see him there again. And they were both scientists, after all -- all the science department buildings were on the same site, on South Parks Road. It wasn't inconceivable that they'd bump into each other again after morning labs. Raven was right to think he had ulterior motives in accompanying Hank to his labs, although he would never give her the satisfaction of saying so. 

Charles was just about to actually go back to working on his tute essay when it occurred to him that, as a graduate student, Erik might very well have a profile on the Engineering Department website. The thought of searching for it felt like spying, in a way, but -- it would be public knowledge anyway, after all. And Erik hadn't seemed very forthcoming with information about himself, beyond the most absolutely basic facts. Not that there would be much more on the Department Website, but all the same, Charles found himself typing Erik's name into the website's internal search engine and hitting 'search'. 

The page came up immediately, and Charles embarrassed himself with how quickly he clicked on the link. The first thing he saw was a photograph of Erik looking severe, his hair rather shorter than it was now, everything in his posture screaming that the picture had been taken under duress. Charles smiled. Of course. 

The biography was short, to the point. Charles was pretty sure Erik had written it himself.

'ERIK LEHNSHERR (St John's College) is studying for a M.Phil in Mechanical Engineering. His special interest is Biomechatronics, with a particular emphasis on neuroscientific applications of robotics. He transferred from the University of Heidelberg in Trinity term of his first year, due to the appointment of his supervisor, Professor Sebastian Shaw, to a chair at the University of Oxford. 

Erik is 24 years old and grew up in Düsseldorf, Germany, with his father. He enjoys chess and beer.' 

Charles sat back in his chair. That explained why Erik had suddenly appeared in the middle of the year; that was only ever allowed when a supervisor shifted universities. And he'd grown up 'with his father'...that struck Charles as rather odd wording; presumably there had been no mother in the picture. Charles wondered what that might have been like. He supposed it would have depended entirely on the father -- a loving, involved parent of either sex would make anyone's experience completely different from what Charles's had been. 

"Charles." That was Raven's voice, hissed across the table. He sighed and closed the tab. 

"Yes?" 

"Charles, I'm fucking starving." She was whispering, but Raven's voice carried, and several heads turned accusingly. "You want to get out of here?" 

It was six o'clock; they'd been here since two. Charles decided they'd put in enough work for the day. "Absolutely." He closed his laptop and began gathering up his things, trying to ignore the strange prickly feeling in his stomach at the thought of hanging out casually with Raven as if nothing was bothering him. As if she hadn't been making enquiries about Charles's -- 

He caught himself. _Get a grip, Xavier_. Erik was Charles's nothing, not his friend, certainly not his _boyfriend_ , for goodness' sake. And Raven would probably never bump into him again. 

Charles tried to ignore the sense of satisfaction that thought gave him as they headed out of the library. 

*

"Alice's boyfriend knows him." Raven threw her bag down forcibly and bounced onto the sofa beside Charles, her face alight with glee. Charles eyed her bemusedly over the tops of his glasses. 

"Sorry?" 

"Alice," Raven said, waving her hands dismissively, "you know, my friend from the campaign group? Her boyfriend is a graduate Engineer. And he _knows Erik_." She bit her lip on a grin. "Isn't that great?" 

All at once, Charles felt his good mood dissipate. He had a strong feeling that, whatever Raven was going to say next, he wasn't going to like it. Moreover, even the idea of someone else even _knowing_ Erik made him feel bizarrely jealous -- if anyone _knew_ Erik, it should be him. 

He was going crazy, that was all there was to it. He sighed, pasted on a smile, and said, "Oh, marvellous. And?" 

"And." Raven grinned like the cat that had the cream. "The boyfriend says he'll talk to him, see if he'll agree to go out with me." 

"Oh," Charles said faintly. His gut was churning. If Erik and Raven started dating, he'd see Erik around all the time. That should have been a good thing, except that, Jesus Christ, he didn't think he could handle it. 

Fuck, he did have a crush on Erik. Buggering fuckity fuck. 

"Yes, oh," Raven said, her enthusiasm undimmed by Charles's reticence. She bounced up, heading for the kitchen. "I'm gonna make some tea, you want anything?" 

_Only some ridiculously handsome straight German boy I've met twice and can't stop obsessing over_. "Tea would be lovely, Raven, thanks."

While Raven was busying herself in the kitchen, Charles wondered why he had agreed in the first place to come over to Raven’s room and embark upon a film marathon with her. Granted, their holidays were on the way, Collections had been taken, and they downright deserved some time to relax. Except that Charles simply _could not_ relax if Raven was going to go on and on about Erik and the possibility of them having a future date.

He shot a quick glance at his watch, smiling wryly to himself at the hope that Hank would join them soon so there would be at least someone else who could distract Raven. Or Charles. Because once he and Hank were together, they tended to bore Raven with their endless babbling on genetics and their studies.

Thankfully, Hank arrived just in time with food and beer when Charles had almost finished his tea. Soon enough, they were all seated on Raven’s small couch, eating pizza and laughing at the film, and Charles’s previous tension finally seemed to vanish. That was, until Hank made a little “Oh!” sound and fumbled in his trouser pocket for something.

“I nearly forgot,” he smiled apologetically at Raven who had arched her eyebrows in confusion. “Erik told me to give you this.” He handed her a small piece of paper, which Raven immediately snatched from Hank’s fingers. Charles tried not to acknowledge the feeling in chest as though he had been just punched.

As Raven read the note, she jumped up from the couch with an excited squeak which caused both Charles and Hank to flinch.

“His number! He gave me his number! I’ve got his fucking _number_!”

Under different circumstances, Charles would have laughed at her poor attempt of dancing the gangnam style. Now, however, he just felt nauseous. At least, and he was grateful for that, she didn’t force him or Hank to congratulate her -- she ran into her bedroom, frantically searching for her mobile phone.

"She seems happy," Hank said. He was looking at the floor. The undertones in his voice said he was just as pleased with this whole development as Charles was, albeit for quite different reasons. Hank had been making yearning puppy eyes at Raven from day one. 

Raven was still in the bedroom, out of earshot. Charles leaned over, feeling a heightened kinship with Hank over their shared jealousy. "You could have just thrown it away, you know. His number. I know you like her." 

Hank shrugged. "That would be dishonest. Anyway -- look at her. Girls like Raven and blokes like Erik belong together. They're miles out of our league. Better to just accept it and move on." 

Charles bit his lip on a sigh. If only he could adopt Hank's attitude towards life, things might be easier for him all round. And yet, despite everything, Charles was an optimist. 

On days like this, it felt like a fucking curse. 

*

The moment Erik texted Raven back, Charles knew about it. It would have been difficult to miss the piercing shriek coming from the other room, and the clatter of feet that demarcated Raven's characteristic victory dance. A moment later, she was throwing open his door without knocking, phone brandished over her head like a victory torch. 

"He wants to go for drinks at The Turf. Tonight! Tonight, Charles!" 

"I...that's fantastic," Charles made himself say, after a moment's stunned silence. Such a large stupid part of him had hoped Erik wouldn't respond...as if Erik would have given Raven his number via proxy if he hadn't been interested. Stupid optimism. 

"I can't believe it! You have to help me decide what to wear." Raven's enthusiasm was undimmed, her smile wide and bright. She was beautiful, Charles was under no illusions. Far too brassy and outgoing for Charles ever to have wanted to date her himself, but he understood the appeal. 

"No problem," he said faintly, feeling slightly as if he'd just offered to help in arranging his own execution. Meanwhile, his mind was whirring. The Turf. A pub, rather than a restaurant; that was quite casual, wasn't it? Erik was testing the waters. Or had he just picked up enough of Raven's personality to realise she was more at home knocking back pints at the pub than trussed up like a lady in one of the posh restaurants on the High Street? It could be either...or it could mean nothing at all. 

Honestly, Charles _had_ to stop obsessing about this. 

"You should wear that red top," he said, resolving to be the bigger man about this. "It looks good on you." 

“The red one?” she asked, seemingly unconvinced. “I don’t know… I mean…” She grabbed her chest and squeezed it. “Don’t you think it’s a bit --” _squeeze squeeze_ “ -- much?”

Hank’s face coloured instantly beet red. Charles let out a small cough. “No, it looks just fine. Trust me.”

Hank gave an embarrassed but not less affirmative sound.

Raven beamed.

Well, at least she was happy. And that was all that mattered.

Right?

Charles would simply live his love life vicariously through Raven if there was really something going to evolve between her and Erik. No big deal. Better than hoping the impossible was going to happen, anyway.

So instead of moping around, Charles decided to be a better friend (partly, because he felt how the weight of guilt was slowly crushing every bone in his body for envying Raven), and emptied his beer before he got up to help her pick an outfit. Poor Hank stayed back and continued to shove the last few remaining slices of pizza into his mouth in order to keep himself from sobbing.

Fifteen minutes later, which was quite a miracle, Raven was ready to go out and conquer Erik’s heart. Charles would drown his own feelings later on with more beer. And then more beer. He was an Xavier after all, alcohol was his best friend.

And he was Raven’s best friend. That was why he couldn’t really refuse to accompany her to the pub where she was supposed to meet Erik. It was dark outside, Raven was probably the prettiest girl in the entire town right now, and despite his complicated feelings, Charles wouldn’t forgive himself if anything happened to her on her way to her date.

It wasn’t easy to swallow down his pride, but seeing Raven’s face glowing with so much joy made him almost forget why he was feeling like this in the first place. Hank had been right; people like her and Erik were made for each other. He would get over his weird uncharacteristic crush on someone he had met just twice in his life.

That was at least what he was trying to convince himself of when they arrived at the pub where Erik was already waiting outside, his face -- looking a little broody at first -- instantly lighting up at the sight of Raven. And then there was confusion.

“Charles?”

“Hi,” he greeted awkwardly, wishing a hole would appear out of the blue underneath his feet and swallow him up.

“What are you doing here?” Erik asked but Raven saved him from further embarrassment.

“He escorted me, like a gentleman. You know, safety reasons.” She laughed and Erik’s stiff posture relaxed a little.

“Well,” Charles joined her laughter, albeit a little nervous “I better get going. Hank and Star Trek are waiting for me.”

“Which Star Trek?” Erik asked, which caught Charles a little off-guard.

“Uh, the latest films.”

Erik grimaced. “Mmh. Lens flare.”

“Yeah,” Charles smiled slightly, involuntary. Until he noticed that Raven’s smile had turned strained, if not impatient. He shuffled his feet a little, half-turning away from them. “So, er, have fun you two.”

“You, too. And thanks for escorting me.”

“No problem,” he mumbled as he gave them a brief nod and hurried back home.

As a distraction, Star Trek proved surprisingly ineffective. Or unsurprisingly, perhaps. Although Charles and Hank both dutifully focused on the screen, drinking their beer and laughing in the right places, Charles knew they were both listening for the same thing: the clattering of Raven's high heels on the stairs outside to say she was home, escorted by her gallant knight, Erik. By the time the second film had drawn to a close ("I still can't believe they cast Cumberbatch," Hank muttered dourly; “Rinkydink,” Charles corrected him straight-faced) there had still been no sound, and the tension in Hank's shoulders was palpable. 

As the credits rolled, the familiar theme tune blaring from the speakers, Charles looked at his watch. It was almost one. The pub would have closed almost an hour ago. Much as it pained him, his eyelids were drooping, and he felt he might have to actually admit defeat. 

"Well," he told Hank, wiping a hand wearily across his face, "I don't know about you, but I'm shattered. I need to go to bed." 

Hank hesitated. "I think I might stay up and wait for Raven to come home. You know. Just in case." 

Charles sighed. "Hank, you know she...might not come back tonight, right?" His tone was as gentle as he could manage, under the circumstances. "She might have gone home with Erik." 

"She's not that kind of girl," Hank retorted, "surely -- on a first date…" 

Charles debated briefly whether to tell Hank about the many occasions when he'd seen one or other of Raven's conquests slip out of her room in the early hours of the morning. He decided against it, instead saying simply, "She really likes him. I wouldn't be surprised." 

More surprising was the thought that Erik might be that kind of _boy_. Would he really have taken Raven home, after one evening? Raven could be in Erik's bed even now, their stupid perfect beautiful bodies entwined, Erik's lovely mouth in the pale curve of her throat…

Fuck it. "Anyway," Charles said, "I'm off to bed. Don't stay up too late, Hank." 

When Charles opened his door at nine the following morning to see Raven on his doorstep, the welter of emotions that flooded through him were a confused jumble: relief, irritation, surprise. 

"I didn't think you realised there was a time before 10 in the morning," he observed wryly, stepping back to let her in. 

"Erik likes to go out early for a run," Raven explained, waving a hand dismissively. Catching Charles's expression, she threw him a sidelong look. "And don't look at me like that -- I only went home with him because his place was much closer. He slept on the sofa." She paused, and then grinned wickedly. "But only because he's a gentleman, and insists upon it. God, I like him so much, Charles." 

Seeing her like this, smiling all over her face, Charles couldn't resent her; he simply couldn't do it. "It went well, then?" 

"Amazing," Raven said, sinking down onto Charles's sofa. "He's _amazing_." 

*

Either he was really, really terribly sick in the head or the world’s biggest masochist but he really couldn’t stop himself from asking Raven about her night out with Erik. He absorbed her every word, clung to her lips as she swooned over the perfection that was Erik Lehnsherr, finest piece of German man meat Raven ever had the pleasure to encounter.

“And, Charles, you wouldn’t believe how _nice_ he is. He’s just -- he likes to take things slow, you know? So far I’ve only met boys who were all like _wham, bam, thank you, ma’am_ , but Erik, he’s different. He’s so mature for his age.”

“Mmh,” Charles hummed into his cup of tea, not really knowing what to even reply to that. She might have just indirectly insulted him. So instead he simply said, “Are you going to see him again?”

“God, I should hope so,” she giggled. Raven usually never giggled. This was really bad. Or good. Depending on how one preferred to look at it. “In fact, I haven’t asked him yet…” While she fumbled for her phone, Charles ran a hand through his hair and looked out of the window. It was a bleary day, foggy, cold and clammy. Charles already cringed at the mere thought of having to go back outside eventually.

He was unpleasantly drawn out of his reverie when Raven waved her phone in front of his face. “Could you please text Erik and ask him when he’s got time? I need to go to the loo.”

“So?” Charles frowned at the absurd idea of texting Erik from Raven’s phone.

“ _Charles_!”

“I text from the loo all the time. I’ve even texted _you_ while I was sitting on the throne.”

Raven grimaced at that. “Ugh, too much information, Xavier. And sorry if I’m uncomfortable with texting my potential future boyfriend while I’m taking a piss, okay?” It took all of Charles’s will power not to cringe at that term. “Come on, I really need to go.”

And with that, she pressed the phone into his hands before he could protest further while she ran towards the toilet section.

When Raven had made her mind up, she was like a force of nature; nothing Charles could say was any use against that. He stared down dumbly at the phone in his hand, his thumb hovering over the little envelope icon that indicated text messages. God, Raven really had no sense of boundaries. Charles would never have given his phone to anyone, despite the fact that there was absolutely nothing on there to incriminate him. And here was Raven, asking him to open up her texts to -- to the most gorgeous man Charles had ever seen; what on earth was she playing at? 

And yet. He couldn't help himself. The masochism, it seemed, was back in play. Charles opened the inbox, found 'Erik' (Raven had saved him as 'Erik von Fuckable') and took a deep breath. 

The conversation, such as it was, was short. Charles was relieved to see they hadn't got to the point of racy messages, or even outright flirtation. She had texted Erik, Erik had replied and asked her out, then texted again this morning to check she got home safely. A gentleman indeed. Charles sighed. 

What to say, then. Raven would kill him if he didn't do her bidding _right this second_ , as if the message couldn't possibly wait. Still, as he started to type, the sentiment wasn't hard to capture. 

_Thanks for last night, it was amazing. When can I see you again? x_

For a moment, he let himself imagine it was him texting Erik, as himself; that Erik had been at the pub with him last night, and not Raven. Erik's long hands wrapped around the neck of a beer bottle, his throat exposed as he laughed at something Charles had said. Those eyes. 

He was lost enough in his daydream to be startled when the phone buzzed in his hand, not a minute later. 

_Let me pick you up tonight. My surprise. :) Seven?_

The fantasy was still in play. Charles's breath was short in his throat, imagining opening the door to Erik; Erik, here, in their building, tonight. He didn't even pause before he texted back, _Great. I'll be ready!_

He hit send, and then, just one second later, an idea occurred to him. A terrible, terrible idea. It was awful.

He shot a glance over his shoulder at the doors to the toilets.

No, no, this wasn’t right. This wasn’t okay.

And yet, against his better judgement, his fingers were moving on their own accord when he reached for a pencil and quickly looked through Raven’s contacts in her phone.

This was down-right creepy, even Sting and _Every Breath You Take_ couldn’t outdo Charles and his momentary level of creepiness. Biting his bottom lip as he jotted down in steno-handwriting Erik’s phone number, Charles aggressively ignored the little voice at the back of his mind that told him to stop this nonsense.

Why would he even need Erik’s number?

 _Just in case_ , he reassured himself. _You never know when you’re going to need it._

Maybe this was a sign that he had hit rock-bottom. The desperation was strong in this one.

When Raven finally returned, he flashed her the brightest smile he could muster after having put down her phone just in time.

“And?” she asked eagerly and reached for her phone. Charles discreetly tucked away the piece of paper he had written Erik’s number on.

“You’ve got a date tonight, my dear.” There was no need for him to tell her that he had just entered the path that would lead him to Creeper’s Hell. Raven, however, seemed oblivious. She grinned stupidly at her phone as she read Erik’s latest reply, and Charles couldn’t help but feel at least a tiny bit guilty.

College security was tight, and the stern porters in their bowler hats were better than nightclub bouncers, refusing entry to anyone they didn't recognise. So, at seven that evening, Raven received a phonecall from the front gate, informing her that "a young man's here to see you. What shall I tell him?" 

"I'll be right down," Raven said, hanging up. Looking over at Charles, who was seated on her bed, she hissed, "He's here!" 

"I gathered that much," Charles said, but her enthusiasm _was_ rather endearing. He stood up, making a show of stretching his aching muscles. Too much Mario Kart. "Shall I walk you down there?" 

There was no need, and they both knew it, but Raven was never one to turn down company, and Charles doubted she'd ever guess at his ulterior motives. Just the chance to see Erik again was enough of a draw to make him want to walk all across college grounds in the rain. 

"You can carry my umbrella," Raven said, thrusting it into his hands. "Now, come on." 

When they reached the Lodge, they found Erik huddled against a wall with his hands thrust into his trouser pockets, but he pushed himself gallantly upright as they approached, inclining his head in greeting. "Raven, my dear. Charles." 

Charles nodded back gruffly in acknowledgement, but Erik was looking at Raven now, his smile all teeth and his eyes crinkling at the corners. She was beaming back just as widely, and he took her hand. 

"Thank you for escorting her," Erik said smoothly, taking the umbrella from Charles's hand. "Have a nice evening." 

Charles bit back the urge to call something after them, like _have her back by midnight_ or, worse, _let me go with you!_ Instead, he simply watched them leave, Erik's number burning a hole in his pocket.


	3. Chapter 3

Raven wasn't back by midnight. She wasn't back by 12.45, not that Charles had really expected her, but still...perhaps, this was his chance. He turned the scrap of paper over in his hand, mouthing the numbers to himself. He'd be well within his rights, wouldn't he, to text Erik and check Raven was safe? He'd texted Raven an hour ago, to no response; she was awful about replying in a timely fashion. It wouldn't be weird. He'd just sent a brief message, like any responsible friend would, and if it gave him an excuse to give Erik his number, well...that was just a sideline, wasn't it? 

His fingers shook as he scrolled to Contacts and keyed in Erik's number, then clicked 'message'. 

_Dear Erik, I seem to have developed the most unfortunate man-crush on you, please drop Raven like a hot potato and date me instead?_

Nah, Charles would have to be beyond paralytically drunk to send that. He took a deep breath. 

_Hi Erik, this is Charles. Just checking Raven's safe with you, she's rubbish at replying to texts!_

That was innocuous enough, surely. 

Erik, efficient as ever, sent an almost immediate reply: 

_Quite safe, she's with me now. Thanks for checking up. :)_

Charles found that he was grinning. For goodness' sake, it was the most perfunctory of text messages, and he wasn't going to start reading things into the significance of the smiley, or he'd never stop. 

Still, he couldn't help thinking that if Erik had been able to text back so quick, he and Raven couldn't have been actually _doing_ anything. In bed. For some reason, Charles found this thought ridiculously satisfying. 

_Glad to hear that, my friend. Please tell her that I’ve taken her N64 with me, in case she wants it back. Night!_

There. That was innocent enough, wasn’t it? Not overly attached or anything, just some friendly reminder for Raven. No trace that would hint at how desperate Charles was to keep texting with Erik.

However, this didn’t keep him from staring at his phone in his hand as if he was willing it to give him a reply. When nothing came after five minutes of waiting, Charles muttered to himself, “This is ridiculous,” and got back out of bed to brush his teeth. Perhaps he would keep on playing some more Mario Kart afterwards until he eventually fell asleep.

Perhaps Erik had taken Charles’s non-committal _Night!_ as a sign that their conversation was indeed over. Charles couldn’t hold it against him.

Except that Charles’s phone was buzzing on the nightstand, indication of another text message received. Charles would never have admitted to practically leaping to his phone, but he might or might not have accidentally knocked over his biology books from his bedside table.

_N64? Maybe I should come over next time. Haven’t seen one in years._

And just when Charles was pondering over whether or not he should text back, he received a second message.

_What are you playing?_

Charles's heart was pounding in his chest. All at once, he could tell that any chance of his falling asleep any time soon had departed. That text, though -- it was perfectly innocent, but Charles couldn't help but translate the syntax into another question entirely; some alternate universe where Erik's late night question was _what are you wearing?_ and Charles would reply, _Just a frown of annoyance that you aren't here to touch me_. 

Jesus Christ. Be cool, Charles. Calm your mind. 

_Just Mario Kart right now, but I have various other stuff. You should come and play sometime! :)_

God, could this really be happening? It was exactly what Charles had wished for, a beautiful second-best to the mad things he really wanted from Erik. A _friend-date_. If he could have that -- if Erik could be his friend, even if he was Raven's boyfriend, maybe Charles could live with that. His crazy infatuation with Erik would pass, anyway, surely. 

The phone buzzed. 

_Great! What about Monday night?_

Charles stuffed his knuckles into his mouth and tried to keep his delight silent. 

_Monday night would be brilliant. You know where I am, just come over whenever. But prepare to get your arse kicked._

He was grinning to himself like a schoolgirl as he pressed send, and when Erik's reply came -- _You're on, just you wait!_ Charles collapsed backwards onto his bed with the phone clutched to his chest, giggling giddily. Okay, it was only a videogame session, just a couple of guys hanging out with an N64, but Charles's whole body thrilled at the thought of it. 

He stared at the ceiling smiling to himself for a long time before he managed to fall asleep. 

*

Technically, it was Raven’s Nintendo 64, and even more technically they were her games. But then, Hank also still possessed a handful of them and it was all _theirs_ but this didn’t keep Charles’s mood from dropping.

It wasn’t as if he expected his and Erik’s meet-up to be like some sort of date after all. They were just getting together, having fun, and getting to know each other a little more. Maybe Erik was just in it for the games, after all. Charles wouldn’t put it past him. Lots of people of his generation looked back nostalgically to their innocent 1990’s childhood, when their biggest worry had been whether or not they would be able to collect all of the 150 Pokémon. (151 if you cheated in order to get Mew. Which Charles had done.)

Also, of course both Raven and Hank would join them, although Hank was more than reluctant to do so. If it hadn’t been for Charles’s big blue eyes and his insistent begging, he would have stayed in his own rooms and studied at least two years ahead.

So when they were all finally seated in Charles’s tiny room, all four of them sitting squeezed onto the couch and fighting over the controllers, Charles felt actually really good about this for the first time. He didn’t have to worry about Raven thinking it was strange that her almost-boyfriend was joining them on a games night, and he wasn’t too worried about Hank who seemed to be enjoying himself well enough -- after all, he was sitting right next to Raven, who was sandwiched between him and Erik. Charles sat on Erik’s other side and had a difficult time not grinning like an idiot to himself.

“Right,” he said, clearing his throat, “Since this is _my_ room, I get to be the first player. And I get to pick the first game.”

“Fuck off,” Raven snorted. “You seem to be forgetting whose N64 this is.”

And then Hank piped up. “Actually, Erik’s our guest, he should pick the first game.”

They all looked at him expectantly. Erik seemed a little uncomfortable with all the attention.

“Uh, what about… What about Mario Party first? Been ages since I played that.”

None of them objected to that suggestion and so they set their first game of Mario Party to ten rounds. Warming up and all that. 

"God," Erik said, laughing, as the game loaded, "the last time I played this, must have been...2001." He shook his head. "But I still remember this screen." 

"Nostalgia," Charles sing-songed. Erik's elbow bumped against his as they settled themselves for their quest, and Charles couldn't help but be conscious of the warmth of Erik's forearm, his thigh pressed against Charles's. Four people might have been the perfect number for Mario Party, but it wasn't really the perfect number for this sofa, which was built for three at best. 

But they were students; students made do with these things, and besides, it wasn't as if Charles objected to being pinned between Erik and the arm of the settee. On the contrary, it made him feel nicely supported, somehow, even if Erik was one of those people who wiggled the controller about as if he thought his physical arm-jerks could make any difference to his little avatar on-screen. 

"Erik!" Raven protested, giggling, after the third time Erik had almost jumped out of his seat and elbowed her in the arm. 

"Sorry," Erik said hastily, "Sorry, sorry -- I just forgot how much I like this game, that's all." 

On Erik's other side, Charles was smiling quietly to himself. He wouldn't have pegged Erik for a nerd, but then, nerds came in all shapes and sizes, after all. Raven could have been a supermodel and she could still nerd out with the best of them. Reserved, serious-looking Erik turning his concentration on the wellbeing of a brightly-coloured animated plumber, tongue between his teeth in earnestness, was nothing short of -- well -- adorable. 

To the irritation of both Charles and Erik (Erik in particular was annoyed about it) Raven was the overall winner of the first set of games. 

"As if anyone else was ever gonna win," Raven said smugly, reaching over to squeeze Erik's knee. (Charles looked away. Even from here, he could sense Hank sulking.) 

"Well, what now?" Charles ventured, and Erik surprised them all by interjecting, "Oh, I don't think we can let her get away with that, can we, Charles? Let's go again, two on two. Charles and I will destroy you." 

“That’s not quite how it works,” Hank said as he adjusted his glasses. Charles had been rendered rather speechless by what Erik had just suggested. “But we could play Mario Kart. Works just as well when you want to really destroy any kind of friendship.”

“Then let’s do that,” Erik nodded.

As they got ready for the game, each one of them picking their favourite character (Charles always had Yoshi), Charles stretched his back with a self-satisfied little smirk. “I don’t want to come off as arrogant or anything, but I’m pretty good at this game. To be frank, I will end you. No mercy.”

Raven and Hank just laughed at him to which he frowned, but Erik regarded him with a secretive little smile.

“No mercy? And I was about to say I’d go easy on you.”

Charles gaped at him, momentarily dumbfounded, until he finally managed to gather his wits. “No need for that, my friend. The harder, the better.”

Christ, what the fuck was he even doing here?

At least he had the decency to break the eye-contact with Erik which had become just a tiny bit too intense during the past five seconds. Whether Raven and Hank had noticed their little exchange, he couldn’t tell as they were currently quarrelling over who would have to get up and get a new bottle of coke.

As Charles had warned them, it was this time him who won all the races and he was pretty sure by the end of the evening that he had lost all their sympathy. Hank told him he would never study for tests with him, Raven flat out refused to ever lend him her N64 in the future. And Erik… Well, Erik was determined to win against Charles another time.

It was almost one a.m. and both Raven and Hank were tired. Which also meant that if Raven was about to go back to her own rooms, Erik would go with her. Charles let out a small sigh of disappointment as he walked them over to his door, still playing the perfect host nonetheless.

“I had much fun, Charles. Thanks for inviting me,” Erik said. Charles smiled at the phrasing, but Raven was too busy groaning in protest.

“Maybe you like losing against that bastard, but I swear to you, after over two years of knowing each other, it’s no fun at all.”

“Love you, too,” Charles smiled sweetly at her. Raven couldn’t really hold a grudge against him for too long and so they gave each other a tight hug when they parted. There was an awkward moment during which Charles wasn’t entirely sure whether or not he was supposed, _allowed_ to give Erik a hug as well -- not that he would have minded in the slightest -- but when Erik opened his long arms to envelop him, he was happy to oblige.

It was nice. It was warm. It was comfortable.

Erik smelled good. Cosy. Like home.

He was a good hugger.

Charles resisted the urge to bury his face in Erik’s neck, to tip his head up just a little and brush his nose along his jaw. As delicious and enticing as that idea was, he instead just gave Erik a little squeeze and a pat on the back, which Erik returned instantly.

Just before they parted, he inhaled Erik’s scent greedily one more time before he bid him a good night. Hopefully, his cheeks didn’t look too flushed.

As he watched Erik and Raven walk down the corridor hand-in-hand, he almost hated the thought of having to go back home over the holidays just so he could deal with his mother’s will and estate.

*

The end of term rolled around quicker than Charles would have liked. Before he knew it, the Dad Brigade had descended upon Oxford with all their cars and minivans, carrying boxes and suitcases out of their offspring's various rooms. Hank had already gone; Raven's father was bustling in and out of their stairwell, complaining about the number of clothes Raven had managed to acquire in the past two months. Charles, meanwhile, was waiting for a courier. It was all a bit depressing. 

Raven hugged him hard before she got into Mr Darkholme's car, flinging her arms around his neck and pressing her face there for a moment. "It won't be too long," she said earnestly in his ear. "We'll be back here soon enough." 

"I know," Charles said, although he didn't really feel it. "Take care of yourself, Raven." 

Part of him had been wishing for Erik to turn up at the last moment, bid Raven goodbye, but there had been no sign of him. Charles couldn't suppress his disappointment. Presumably, Erik had gone home already, and Charles wondered idly what he'd be going back to, what sort of life he had with his single father in Germany. Whatever it was, he was fairly sure that Erik's summer would at least be better than his own. 

The house, when he reached it in the chauffeur-driven van, looked the same as ever. It was vast, ancient, and when Charles stepped inside, it smelled just the same as always. It felt the same, too -- empty. Sharon Xavier had never had the gift of warming a place with her presence. The reading of the will had been scheduled for later the following afternoon. Charles had wanted to get it out of the way as swiftly as possible. It was likely to be rather short, after all. Acquaintances, Sharon had had a lot of, but she'd never really been stable enough to have a friend.


	4. Chapter 4

When the executor arrived, Charles showed him at once to the room that now, he supposed, was his study. It had been Sharon's father's study, once upon a time, but Charles had only the faintest recollection of his grandfather.

"Well," said the solicitor, to Charles's great relief, "this shouldn't take long. Would you care to take a seat, Mr Xavier?"

The preliminaries, however, despite the lawyer's promise, seemed to go on forever. The solicitor seemed to sense Charles's boredom, because as he neared the end of the page, he caught Charles's eye and smiled. "This is the important part, son."

Obediently, Charles sat upright, lifting his chin off his hand, and the solicitor cleared his throat.

"I, Sharon Xavier, devise, bequeath and give the family home to my son, Charles F. Xavier. The rest and residuary of my estate, being the monetary portion and all other effects, I devise, bequeath and give as follows:

50 % to my son, Charles F. Xavier;  
50% to my son, Max E. Eisenhardt."

Charles blinked.

"And here concludes the last will and testament of Sharon Xavier." The solicitor set the paper down on the desk and raised an eyebrow. "Any questions?"

Charles couldn't speak. His throat seemed to have closed up.

"Mr Xavier?"

At length, Charles found his voice. "Yes, I -- there must be some mistake. When did she make this will?"

The solicitor glanced back at the page. "Two years ago, in December. Is that important?"

Charles shook his head slowly. "It's just -- she's split her estate between me and -- her other son."

"That's quite normal," the solicitor pointed out. Charles was still staring into space, dumbfounded.

"But my brother is _dead_. He died before I was born. Was she drunk when she made this, or…?"

"Mr Xavier," said the solicitor softly, "I authorised this will myself. I can assure you, I would never have done so if I hadn't been completely satisfied that your mother was in her right mind. She left her estate to you and your brother because your brother is still alive. I suppose this means you don't know how to contact him?"

Charles's brain seemed to have shut down. "No, I -- I told you, for all I knew, he was _dead_ , what am I supposed to do, dial '999 Heaven'?"

The solicitor only continued to regard him with steady eyes. "Your mother mentioned to me that he had gone back to Germany with his father. I suggest you start there. In the meantime, the matter isn't pressing. The house is yours, that part is clean-cut. There's nothing left for me to do here." The man set the will back in his briefcase and stood. "If you need anything further, here's my card."

He pressed it into Charles's loose grip and walked out, leaving Charles stunned, paralysed by his own confusion.

*

That evening, the new owner of the ancient Xavier estate decided it was time to honour his late mother in the most appropriate way possible -- by emptying a bottle of red wine all by himself, sitting in front of the fireside and quietly hoping he would pass out eventually. Today had been loaded with new and truly unbelievable information and it took all of Charles’s will power not to have a major breakdown over all this.

He was half-way down the bottle on an empty stomach, giggling and shaking his head to himself at the absurdity of the situation when his phone beeped. Blinking drowsily at the screen, he frowned a little when it took him three attempts to unlock it. If it was Raven messaging him about how much she missed Erik, he wasn’t going to answer. God only knew what he might accidentally spill to her.

However, when he saw who the message was actually from, he could have cried tears of joy. He certainly felt like it since he hadn’t imagined in his wildest dreams that Erik would contact him on the second day of their holidays -- or, indeed, contact him during their holidays at all.

It was just a short message via WhatsApp, but a message nevertheless.

_I’m bored. Can you recommend me any series to watch?_

_How about Breaking Bad?_ , Charles typed back immediately. It wasn’t easy to hit the right letters on his phone, but luckily the phone was smart enough to save him from the embarrassment of writing complete rubbish.

Erik typed something, slowly. And then: _Already watched it, bitch. Anything else? And don’t say TBBT._

_Why not?_

_It’s here on TV right now. I imagine the original jokes in English are just as bad as they are in German._

Laughter bubbled up in Charles’s chest. Whether it was him or the alcohol, he didn’t know. He took another sip from his glass before he replied.

_Right. Wel,, howabbout Parks abd recrwation?_

Erik typed something. Erik stopped. Erik typed something again.

_Parks and what?_

_Oh sorry i mean parks AND recreation_

Along with Charles’s sobriety, his perfectionist orthographical standards had flown right out of the window.

_Is it good?_

_It’s amazing_

_I’ll give it a try, then. :)_

Smugness and satisfaction washed over him at that answer and he felt like he ought to have another glass of wine as a reward.

_Tell me how you like it_

The next time he looked at his phone to read Erik’s reply, he was drinking from his re-filled glass and nearly choked on the wine. He could already feel it threatening to come out of his nose.

_What a lewd thing to ask a virtuous person such as myself, Charles._

_Stukid dick, I meant the SHHIW_

He was grateful that Erik couldn’t see his face right now. He would probably laugh at him.

His phone beeped again, this time saying, _Are you drunk?_

Charles stifled a giggle in his palm. Erik was nothing if not perceptive. Suddenly, viscerally, he wished Erik was here getting drunk with him, instead of miles away in Germany, leaving Charles alone in this empty house. For some reason, at this moment, it seemed only logical that Erik should be the one here, not Raven or Hank, his long-time friends. He was too drunk to question his motives as he responded:

_hELLA. come drnk wth me_

"Erik is typing," Charles said out loud, giggling at his phone screen. A moment later:

_Tell me you did not just say 'hella'._

Charles collapsed in giggles at that. He could just picture Erik's face, the dry tone of his voice. He loved Erik's voice. Erik's voice…

_I DID NAD I MAENT IT. u shd drink to._

A long pause, and Charles thought he was almost liable to fall asleep. Then, at length, Erik replied,

_Charles, are you okay?_

That was enough to cut through his haze of drunken laughter, the sobering realisation that his mother had lied to him all these years. That he had a _brother_ he'd never known about, that she'd left him alone in the world only to tell him that he wasn't, but without leaving so much as a forwarding address. It was too much for a WhatsApp message, that was for sure. Eventually, he sighed and typed, _nO. drrnk tho. wine good._

Erik's reply was immediate. _Go to bed, Charles. And then when you've sobered up, email me, okay? e.lehnsherr@gmail.com_

Charles stared at the message dully for a long while before he responded. _k. nighg nght._

 _Wish you were here,_ he thought, but didn't say. His head ached. He was lonely. Now, looking at the empty wine bottle discarded on the floor, he thought he understood something of how his mother must have felt all those years.

*

> Dear Erik

Charles groaned, rubbing the heels of his hands against his tired eyes. It wasn’t easy trying to write a letter of apology when he was plagued by the most disastrous headache anyone had ever been slapped with this century.

Letter for letter, he slowly hit backshift until the entire start of his e-mail had been deleted, and he began once more. _Dear_ was after all much too formal for an email.

> Erik,
> 
> in case you were wondering, it’s me, Charles.
> 
> I’m terribly sorry about how I behaved last night. I don’t think I can really justify what I said, except by explaining that I thought it was a good idea to drink an entire bottle of red wine on an empty stomach. Sometimes I really think I ought to be looked after when I can’t even take care of myself alone at home.
> 
> If you don’t hear anything from me when we’re back at uni, I’ll probably have died of alcohol poisoning or too much instant food.
> 
> Please forgive me, I promise I won’t pester you again when I’m drunk.
> 
> Take care and enjoy the rest of your holidays!
> 
> Charles

He read through the letter three more times, keeping an eye out for accidental typos -- the shame of not having been able to type properly on his phone last night was still too fresh and humiliating -- before he finally hit send and slowly got up from his chair.

It was a long way from his room down to the kitchen where aspirin and water would be waiting for him but he knew he could do it. Once or twice he needed to stop himself when he thought he was going to vomit right onto one of the outrageously expensive Persian carpets, but when the feeling vanished, he soldiered on.

Unfortunately, it took over half an hour for the aspirin to kick in. In the meantime, he lay on the settee like a disgruntled potato, watching a repeat of Indiana Jones on TV. It was strangely comforting to just lie there in his pyjamas, blanketed by a quilt and the old familiar tunes from the film. It was so soothing, in fact, that Charles managed to fall asleep and woke up several hours later, long after sunset. He still felt a little feverish but at least the nauseous feeling which had haunted him for most of the day had vanished. And while this had disappeared, his hunger had returned. He was _ravenous_.

It hadn’t been just a joke when Charles had told Erik that he would quite possibly die of too much instant food. He had never been a great cook himself, much too lazy for that, so before Charles had left Oxford, he had bought enough frozen pizza and other items that he could survive a third world war. Easily.

Certainly, this wasn’t _haute cuisine_ but Charles was content enough munching away on his pizza while he sat in front of the TV. After a while, he noticed a weird buzzing noise coming somewhere from underneath what felt like a hundred layers of blanket and dressing gown. With a frown, he wriggled around and reached blindly for his buried phone until he finally snatched it with a triumphant “There you are!”

When he looked checked the screen, his stomach swooped.

Seven messages and three missed calls.

Each one of them from Erik.

“What the --” Charles was still too stunned by this when suddenly, his phone vibrated again. Another call. He felt almost clumsy when he went to answer it, his voice coming out as a shaky sigh. “Hello?”

“Charles? Charles, can you hear me? Fuck, I’m sorry, the connection is too fucking bad here in this village. Wait.” Erik’s voice disappeared for a while and Charles thought he was going to die of a heart attack. Then there was more crackling until Erik’s voice was back, this time crystal clear and warm against his ear. “Can you hear me now?”

“Y-yeah, I can. Uhm.” He swallowed hard. “Erik, has anything happened? Why were you so, er, urgent with your messages?”

At the other end of the line, Erik huffed. “Excuse me, but I thought something had happened to you. You didn’t reply to my e-mail and now it’s -- uh -- almost nine PM for you. I was…” Charles held his breath as Erik tried to find the right word. “...worried.”

“Worried? Really?” he laughed but winced immediately. His headache was still there. “Why?”

“Well, you could have choked to death on your own vomit for all I know. Are you really all alone at home?”

“I, uh,” Charles looked around, feeling a little lost. “Yeah.”

“Where are your parents?”

“It appears I don’t have any left, my friend.”

On the other end of the line, Erik caught his breath. "Oh, Charles."

"It's okay."

"I'm so sorry -- "

"No, no," Charles cut in, "really, it's okay. I only ever had my mother, and we weren't...close."

For a second, Erik hesitated. Then he said, "It was just me and my dad when I was a little kid, till he got married again. But my stepmother has been like a mum to me for years now. I can't imagine…" He trailed off, sighed. "And you're going to stay on your own in the house for the whole vacation?"

Charles shrugged, although he knew Erik wasn't exactly there to see it. "What other option do I have? Look, Erik, really, it's not something you need to worry about."

"And you've no other family?"

Charles almost laughed out loud, mirthlessly. There it was, after all, the reason he'd felt the need to break out the wine last night. His mother was dead, cirrhosis of the liver, but that hadn't exactly come as a surprise. The brother, though...that was a different matter.

"Apparently," Charles said flatly, "according to the executor of my mother's will, I've got a brother. Which is news to me."

Erik made a low sound of surprise. "You didn't know?"

"I thought he was dead. My mother -- she never talked about it much, but she separated from my father before I can remember. I always thought my older brother had died, and they'd had me to sort of...preserve the relationship. But, apparently not." He sighed. "Sorry, I don't want to bother you with this stuff. I've got no contact information for the brother or anything. I doubt I'll ever find him. The whole idea is still just weird."

"Wow, Charles. That's...I understand why you felt the need for the red wine last night. This was recent?"

Erik's voice was low and concerned, a comforting purr in Charles's ear. Charles closed his eyes. "Yesterday."

"Oh, Charles."

For a moment, nobody spoke. Charles clutched the phone to his ear and breathed. Then Erik said, "I'm going back to Oxford early, you know. I won't be here the whole vac. I could...come and see you?"

Charles felt his pulse quicken in his throat. This was all so strange, Erik's investment in him, his tone of such sincere concern, and yet, it somehow made sense, still, even in the cold light of day. And Charles did so want to see him. He didn't know why, but he'd longed to see Erik since that first moment in the library.

"Please," he croaked, and then cleared his throat and tried again. "Yes -- that would be amazing."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dun dun dun dun...


	5. Chapter 5

Six weeks later, Erik was sitting comfortably in Charles’s living room, looking around in quiet amazement as he took in the glory that was the Xavier fortune.

“Well, what am I supposed to call you now? Your Lordship? Your Grace?”

“What?” Charles laughed nervously, surprised at the grin that was flickering across Erik’s features. Erik shrugged.

“I’m just saying. I grew up in an environment that’d be considered something between working and middle class here in England. We’re not poor but both my parents are working full-time.”

“At least you can say about yourself that your brain is the thing that got you into Oxford and not your family,” Charles smiled warmly. “I’m sorry, I’m an awful host. I haven’t shown you your room yet, have I?”

“No, but I suppose it will take at least half a day to travel there?” Erik teased as Charles got up and helped Erik with his luggage.

“Very funny, Erik, are you sure that you shouldn’t go into comedy instead of engineering?” Charles retorted, earning a snort from the other man.

“You’re my lab rat for my jokes until they can go public.”

“It’s an honour.”

If Charles was being honest with himself, he was equally relieved as well as embarrassed that Erik would be spending the last four weeks of his holiday with him. While he felt as though he was stealing Erik from his family -- and also that it was wrong in terms of Raven -- he was glad that he wasn’t forced to spend the rest of his holidays alone at home either. The few employees that kept an eye on the estate weren’t enough company for Charles to keep him distracted from his family crisis. Sooner or later, he would have to deal with it.

Now, however, all he could think about was that Erik was here, at his home. Just the two of them for the next four weeks. This was more than he could have ever asked for.

“So, this is your room. Mine is just across from yours, just so you know, in case you need something,” Charles said as he pushed open the door to the guest room. “I’m sorry that the furniture is so very _Henry the Eighth_. My mother always thought that it gave the room a certain… quality.”

“Quality, indeed. Have you ever used it?” Erik asked with a poorly concealed grin, and raised his eyebrows.

“Not that I remember, no.” Charles drew in a sharp breath, hands tucked into his trouser pockets. “I’m sure _some_ ancestor’s ghost finds this whole interior rather charming.”

Erik laughed, throwing his bag down on the floor. The rest of his stuff was still in the hallway, all the things he'd need for the coming term at Oxford, but there was no reason to bring all of that upstairs, his cutlery and bedding, his towels and piles of books. For now, they were still on holiday, and all Erik would need would be his clothes. 

"If you need the bathroom," Charles went on, "there's a loo just there --" he pointed -- "and a shower behind that door at the end of the corridor. Towels are in the cupboard." 

An image filled his mind, unbidden, of Erik with his head tipped back under the showerhead, water streaming down the long sinuous curve of his spine, his hair dark with it. Charles cleared his throat, shook his head as if it could dislodge the thought. Before him, Erik was smiling at him, his manner still relaxed and casual. Charles envied him. 

"You don't happen to have an N64 here, do you?" Erik asked. 

Charles choked on a laugh, the comment entirely unexpected. "N64 and chess, that's how I spend my time, essentially. And if you crave something more modern, I’ve got a PS3 as well." 

"Excellent," Erik said, swinging his legs onto the bed and bouncing as if to test the mattress. "I look forward to it." 

"I hope you don't mind my...non-cooking," Charles ventured, thinking wryly of the diet of frozen pizza and beans on toast he'd subsisted on since June. "I'm not much of a chef." 

"I can cook," Erik said, smiling. "I like to, in fact. Can't have you wasting away from scurvy or something, can we?" 

Charles laughed. Erik was grinning at him full-force, his face split wide with all those white teeth, and Charles couldn't help but smile back; it was a visceral reaction. 

"I suppose not, my friend," he said. "I suppose not." 

*

Living with Erik, as it turned out, was far easier than Charles would have imagined. Their bathroom times never interfered (perhaps a tiny little bit to Charles’s chagrin) as Erik liked to get up early and go for a morning run while Charles was only thinking of turning over in his bed. Both liked their space clean and tidy; Erik cooked, Charles ate, and they both found they actually enjoyed taking supermarket trips together.

It was a little strange at first to drive while Erik was with him since Erik would at first always approach the wrong side of the car, thinking it was the co-driver’s seat, and then he would get a little nervous once they were on the road.

“I know it’s different in the rest of the world, Erik, but I hope you’ve got enough trust in me that I will _not_ get us killed, okay?”

“I will hold you to that, Charles. Now, please, if you would look at the road, that would be amazing.”

After one week of being in each other’s company, Charles wasn’t really sure whether he was supposed to write essays or study. One small guilty part of him berated Charles every once in a while -- it sounded remarkably like Raven. When he attempted to study, though, Erik would inevitably suggest a game of chess or a round of Super Smash Brothers. And how could Charles ever refuse him?

Maybe, just maybe he was supposed to feel guilty for entirely different reasons. Erik was back in England, spent the rest of his holidays with _Charles_ of all people, and it seemed as though neither of them had bothered to tell Raven about this.

After all, she was practically his girlfriend now, wasn’t she?

Charles wasn’t really certain as to how to approach the subject in the most sensitive way; Erik might take it the wrong way and pack his things and go. Deep down, however, he knew he was being utterly selfish. So, eventually, he simply asked.

“Does Raven know you’re here with me?” he asked, hoping his voice sounded light enough, not as though he was overly concerned with his possible impending loneliness.

“Raven?” Erik repeated while chewing on his toast. “No. Why?”

"Well…" Charles trailed off, uncertain. "She's your girlfriend, isn't she?" 

Erik laughed shortly. "I like her; we've been on a few dates. But I wouldn't call her a girlfriend, exactly. It's not anything serious. Not yet, at least. She doesn't need to know my movements." He looked at Charles sharply. "Why? Do you think she'd mind?" 

Charles felt his whole body seize up hesitantly. "Well, I --" Really, he wasn't at all sure what Raven would think. She hadn't been seeing Erik long, it was true, but on the other hand, she probably wouldn't have expected such a fast friendship to develop between Erik and Charles. After all, they'd only encountered each other a few times before the end of term, and now here was Erik, staying over in Charles's house for several weeks. Charles had to admit it was unorthodox. But she wouldn't suspect anything, surely? She knew -- she _thought_ she knew -- that Charles and Erik were both straight. She wouldn't assume anything funny was going on. Not that anything was. 

"I suppose not," Charles said, eventually. "She might be surprised, though." 

Erik laughed. "Why? I met you before I ever met her. I met her _through_ you." 

"True," Charles said. He stretched his arm idly along the back of the settee and turned his head to look at Erik face-on. "You like her, though, don't you?" 

"Will you kill me if I say the wrong thing?" Erik's shark-grin was back in place, all teeth. "Of course, I like her. She's funny, and gorgeous. But I'm not…" He hesitated. "I'm not all that much into serious relationships." 

Charles couldn't help but seize on that. "Oh?" 

Erik lifted one shoulder. "My parents divorced when I was two, three years old. I don't even remember my mother. My father married again, but honestly...it didn't make me set much stock by marriage." 

"I can understand that," Charles said. It seemed he could understand most of what Erik said, viscerally. Something about Erik's thoughts seemed to connect with his own on an intense level he didn't really remember ever having happened with anyone else. 

"Anyway," Erik said, pushing himself upright, "I want to try my hand at risotto. You want to help me chop?" 

"As long as you tell me what to do," Charles said, getting to his feet. In this house, using the kitchen on his own was a novelty in itself, let alone helping Erik make things that looked like something one might buy in a restaurant. This whole summer, as far as Charles was concerned, was a revelation. 

*

That evening, they were having a Star Wars marathon. And, as Erik insisted, Star Wars only consisted of episodes IV to VI. So three films, 379 minutes and one awkward incest kiss between Luke and Leia later, they were both high on John Williams’s soundtrack and The Force. While Charles tried to convince Erik that in an alternate universe he would be the Chewbacca to Charles’s Han Solo, Erik just laughed and ruffled his hair, calling him an ewok.

“Fuck off,” Charles tried not to laugh when Erik wouldn’t allow him to bat his hands away. Eventually, they both ended up somehow wrestling on the couch for the upper hand. Of course, Erik won.

“Come on, Charles, say one more time how you’re Han Solo in this scenario, and not some furry little ewok.” Erik’s grin was predatory. Charles swallowed, ignoring the faint flutter in his stomach.

“All right, all right. Now will you get off me? You’re fucking heavy, for Christ’s sake.”

Erik obliged, not quite without ruffling Charles’s hair one more time, and then climbed off Charles.

“Arse,” Charles added as an after-thought to which Erik let out a throaty laugh.

It was almost half past two in the morning, and Charles felt tiredness creeping into his system. Erik wasn’t entirely immune to tiredness either. And so they both agreed on finally going to bed. 

_Would you care to join me in my obnoxiously over-sized bed, dearest Erik?_ was at the tip of Charles’s tongue but he decided against it when Erik waved at him before he closed the door to his own room.

Charles let out a deep blissful sigh when he finally lay down on his mattress. It felt like heaven and only just now he noticed how tired he really was.

Only that his phone beeped the moment he closed his eyes. With a grunt, he reached for it, blinking with a small frown as he tried to decipher what was written on the screen.

A WhatsApp message from Erik?

Charles tipped on it and then his phone suddenly downloaded a sound file. When he listened to it, he heard Erik’s voice:

“Chhhhh, Lehnsherr talking to Xavier, Lehnsherr talking to Xavier.”

Quietly, Charles stifled his laughter. And then he recorded a message as well.

“Chhh-chhhh, Xavier here. What do you want?”

“Chhhh, nothing, I just really missed using a walkie-talkie like I did when I was a child.”

“Chh-chhhhhh, that’s fucking random, though, Erik. You’re weird.”

“No, you’re weird, Charles. And chhh.” God, it was difficult not to smile stupidly at the warm tone in Erik’s voice. Charles could envision it so perfectly. Erik’s secretive smile, fond and warm and so lovely, just the right mix between smugness and shyness.

He was glad he found that WhatsApp also offered a video record option -- he made good use of it by flicking Erik off. When he heard laughter from the room across the corridor, Charles felt proud.

Another message followed. This time a video by Erik -- Erik, who looked a little sleepy, hair tousled and, _oh_ , apparently not wearing a nightshirt. Charles sighed.

“If you want to flick someone off the German way, you do it like _this_ ” which Erik demonstrated by shoving his middle finger right into the camera. And then -- “Anyway, I’m tired. Sleep tight.”

 _You too_ , Charles simply typed and hit _send_.

He lay down again, sighing deeply, as he reflected over how much worse his gay crisis had become ever since Erik had arrived at his home. He really needed to throw himself back into the dating world at Oxford. It had been too long since the last time he had had a proper girlfriend.

Which was easier said than done, really, with Erik who seemed to have lost all his initial inhibitions around Charles within the blink of an eye.

Personal space? That’s for the weak.

Running around clothed? Why wear anything at all when you might as well dress like Tarzan?

Charles felt his patience and perseverance slip and slip further.*

Erik, it turned out, was a breakfast person. Charles couldn't even remember the last time he'd bothered eating anything in the morning, but Erik wouldn't hear of waiting for lunch; Erik was an early riser, and Charles usually woke up to the smell of something delicious drifting from the kitchen. The grounds of the house were big enough that there was a large kitchen garden and a chicken coop, which delighted Erik no end. Charles still smiled at the memory of Erik's face when he'd peered out of the kitchen window and seen the hens pecking about in the dirt by their henhouse. 

"Charles!" That grin had come out in full force, like the sun breaking through cloud. "You have chickens?" 

"We have chickens," Charles acknowledged, smiling. "The benefits of country living." 

After that, Erik had insisted on being allowed to go out and check the henboxes for eggs in the mornings. He still exhibited a childish delight whenever he found anything, and Charles knew that Erik loved nothing more than to bring in an egg from the garden and immediately put it to use in an omelette or frittata or something else to feed Charles up with first thing in the morning. 

"Come on, Charles," Erik said, thrusting a plate down on the table. "You're hungry, I know you are." 

"Ughhhh." Charles looked away. Even bleary-eyed and in need of coffee, Erik's statement was still distressingly true, although not in the way Erik meant it. Erik had a horrible tendency to slob around in low-cut jogging pants that barely clung to his hips, his chest and abs and shoulders bare to Charles's greedy eyes. Eating Erik's cooking was often the only way to yank his attention away from Erik's stupid perfect upper body. It didn't help that Erik seemed intent on feeding Charles up. He probably thought Charles was skinny or something. Great. 

It was a shame how quickly time seemed to fly by when you were enjoying yourself. Charles texted Hank and Raven once or twice -- he wasn’t really sure because his tiny world had been completely taken up by Erik. Somehow, either by wizardry or other sneaky ways, he had managed to drag Charles out of bed each morning and take him with him on his morning runs. At first, it had been simply dreadful. But Charles found after a while that it wasn’t all too bad. He started to have fun, him and Erik challenging each other with races until they arrived back home. He started to feel _fit_ and _healthy_ \-- words he had only ever read about in his Biology books.

In return, Charles brought out Erik’s inner nerd. As the days passed by, he got to know how much of a geek the man actually was, and it was an endearing sight to watch him ramble about Star Wars, Star Trek, Lord of the Rings and Comic Con. Erik was A Fanboy. A Fanboy, mind you, who was far from thick or unattractive. The entire package was perfect. Charles couldn’t be happier. Or more fucked in the most figurative way possible.

Taking all this into account, how quickly they both bonded over the course of four weeks, it came as no surprise that both their moods shifted towards the end of their holidays. The cheerfulness had vanished just a bit, they were less enthusiastic about going back and seeing their friends again. All in all, it was rather depressing. Charles hated to think that soon he would have to share Erik with Raven again while he somehow had to find his only living relative without any clue as to where to start.

It was their last evening together, all their things packed already, and they were sitting on Charles’s large bed, looking through his old comics when Erik suddenly buried his face in the blanket, groaning.

“Are you okay?” Charles laughed to which Erik shook his head.

“No. I mean, yes.” His voice was muffled by the fabric. “It’s just -- I don’t want to go back already, you know? Three months just isn't enough.”

 _Four weeks alone with you are not enough, my friend_ , Charles corrected in his head, smiling bitterly.

Aloud, he said, "Aren't you looking forward to seeing Raven again? I mean. It can't be much fun, trapped out here with just me and no girls around for miles." 

He was skating on thin ice, now, he knew. His chest had gone tight. Oh god, he had probably sounded horribly obvious. Erik was going to get up and go back to his own room. Erik must have seen right through him. 

Except Erik only rolled over slightly, his face in profile, cheek pressed against the blanket, and laughed. "Who needs girls with you around, babyface?" 

"Hey." Charles shoved at his shoulder, but it was a token protest, the corners of his mouth curling. "You know what I meant." 

"Yeah," Erik sighed, looking up at him sidelong. "I know." 

For a long moment, they only looked at each other, Charles propped on his hand and Erik plastered flat to the mattress. Then Erik's hand crept out, broad palm and long fingers, and patted the duvet cover. "C'mere." 

Charles hesitated. "What?" 

"Come down here, just for a minute," Erik repeated, and his voice was so sincere that Charles didn't have it in him to protest. He wriggled down, curving his body into a comma facing Erik's, and the two of them looked at each other steadily. Charles's heart was in his throat. There was nothing _sexual_ , exactly, about the moment, but it felt oddly intimate, their faces inches apart, Erik's hand spread on the mattress between them. 

"Thank you," Erik said, at length. His voice was very quiet. "For inviting me here. It was…" 

He trailed off, but Charles felt the sentiment clutch at his chest all the same, the look on Erik's face as helpless to name this feeling as Charles was. Carefully, Charles lifted his hand, brushed his fingertips across Erik's knuckles. 

"Yes," he said. "I know." 

He was too nervous, too embarrassed to meet Erik’s gaze and so Charles stared at their hands instead, not missing the way Erik’s throat moved as Charles continued to lightly graze his fingertips along the back of Erik’s hand. When he thought of all the time they had spent together now, when he summarised everything, how close they had become, Charles felt his heart sink at the fact that it was supposed to end just the next day. Twelve hours from now, they would be back in their own rooms at Oxford. The thought was still too unreal.

Erik’s body shifted slightly, coming a little closer, his hand turning underneath Charles’s. Four months ago, he would have never imagined that he and Erik would lie in his bed and play with each other’s fingers. That was just… most peculiar.

“Erik?” he heard himself saying and was met by curious eyes that reflected all too well his current mood. “Promise me something?”

“Sure.”

“Let’s keep in touch, okay? I hate the thought of not doing anything again, just the two of us.”

The other’s face softened. “Oh Charles, of course. We’re friends, aren’t we?”

“Yes, friends,” he sighed.

They continued to look at each other, fingers still touching and playing gently with each other. It was soothing, lovely even, the way Erik’s long graceful fingers caressed his. Charles felt light-headed.

“Charles?”

“Mmh?” He was comfortably sleepy here, lying next to Erik like this with the latter’s breath gently ghosting across his lips.

Wait.

What.

And then his phone rang.

They leapt apart as if they'd been shot, Erik jumping up into a sitting position and Charles fumbling for his phone on the nightstand. The ringer had never seemed quite so loud before as it did now, and Charles could tell that his face was scarlet. The screen was flashing. 

Raven. Of course. 

On the other side of the bed, Erik was perched on the extreme edge, running his hands through his hair and looking -- guilty, if anything. Not that he had anything to be guilty about. They hadn't _done_ anything, and being friends who wanted alone time wasn't a crime. 

Still, the excuses felt hollow to Charles as he reluctantly accepted Raven's call. 

"Raven, hi." 

"Took you long enough!" Raven's voice was cheerfully familiar on the other end of the line, and Charles felt bad about having been so irritated at being interrupted. 

"What do you want, trouble?" he demanded, mock-angrily, and Raven laughed. 

"I only wanted to tell you I'm back in college; when are you getting here?" 

"Tomorrow," Charles assured her. _We_ hovered on the tip of his tongue, but instead he said, carefully, "I'll -- I'll be there tomorrow. See you soon." 

"Okay, professor. See you then. I want to hear all about your summer." 

_I bet you do_ , Charles thought. "Yours, too. Bye for now." 

"Raven," he told Erik, unnecessarily. Erik nodded. He was avoiding Charles's eyes. 

"Well, I suppose I should go back to my room. Bit of a drive tomorrow, after all." 

"Of course," Charles said. The ache in his chest felt oddly like disappointment, but he was being ridiculous. It wasn't as if Erik would have slept in Charles's bed. Why on earth would he? 

All the same, Charles fell asleep to thoughts of storm-sea eyes and fine cheekbones, the ghost of Erik's breath against his mouth.


	6. Chapter 6

Getting back into the groove of studying and being one student among thousands was easy enough. Staying apart from Erik and seeing him only two or three times a week instead of at least 16 hours a day, however, was far more difficult to get used to.

For some reason, it annoyed Charles to no end that Raven immediately latched onto Erik once they were back. He knew that his irritation was unfounded -- if one ignored his crush that was getting out of hand at the speed of light -- and that he should do his best to encourage Raven getting together with Erik because, really, they were a sight to behold.

Only that Charles couldn’t really find any happiness in seeing them together. Not anymore.

At least his studies gave him comfort to some extent. He was still doing well, his marks didn’t suffer from his yearning, he felt good doing something he was excellent at, and he still enjoyed learning new things every day. Living under these circumstances was…tolerable. It wasn’t _ideal_ and what Charles would want the rest of his life to be but it was more bearable than he would have thought.

The thing he least expected was that he would soon enough find himself trying to go on dates again. Every once in a while, when was out with his friends, he managed to pick up a girl with his awful attempts at flirting and charming smiles. Charles _knew_ that he wasn’t unattractive to girls on campus. At least four of them in his favourite lecture series on Wednesday gave him the eye regularly, giggling at every word he said. Granted, none of them was Erik, quality made in Germany, but then, nobody could compete with him.

If dating new people and going out with them and having a bit of fun meant that seeing Erik and Raven together regularly would become less insufferable, then Charles felt he should give it the old college try. 

The first girl he took up with was Gabrielle, a pretty little dark-haired Biochemist. She couldn't have been more different than Erik. Perhaps that was why Charles chose her in the first place. But at any rate, she was fun, and friendly, and flirted with him shamelessly on their first date at the Phoenix Picture House, and so Charles couldn't understand why he wasn't more interested in pursuing her. After the second date, she let him kiss her at the door of her accommodation building, and it was nice, but _nice_ was all it was. 

Charles didn't want _nice_. A year ago, he would have settled for it, but now the memory of lying, fully-clothed, on his childhood bed with Erik made his pulse quicken more than his wildest imaginings of what he could do with Gabrielle. It was fucked up, but it was immovable fact. _Nice_ wasn't all Charles was capable of. And Gabrielle...wasn't right. 

After the third date, he broke it off. It didn't help that Erik and Raven seemed to be slipping into that stage of a relationship where Going Out was no longer quite so much of a thing. Charles couldn't tell if it was Erik's doing or Raven's, but they seemed to spend most of their time hanging around in the staircase where Charles and Raven lived, watching old films on Raven's laptop with Charles and Hank sprawled across the sofa while Erik and Raven took the bed. Hank always looked a little hesitant at first, as if he thought they ought to clear out and get out of the way of the lovebirds, but Erik never seemed to mind, his arm loosely around Raven's shoulders and his attention fixed on the laptop screen. Eventually, some nights, Raven would throw them out, but Charles didn't think it was his imagination that Erik's expression as Charles left the room was often one of regret. 

God, this was stupid, though. It was getting worse instead of better; the more he saw Erik and Raven together, the more it seemed to rake up his spine like nails tearing through his skin. Once, he wandered into the kitchen to find Raven up on her tiptoes, mouth pressed softly to Erik, and the way Charles's stomach turned over was nothing short of jealous rage. He had no right to it, he knew, but that didn't help. Not very much seemed to help any more. 

Soon enough, he got another 'girlfriend'. Her name was Moira, and she had asked _him_ , which he rather liked. Boldness was a pleasing quality in a girl. He took her to the pictures, and it was fun, but when he got home to find Erik at his door with a magnetic chessboard and a smile...there was no contest. He'd sacrifice a thousand dates just to hang out here with Erik, playing chess or Mario Kart and laughing about their lecturers. 

It was a problem. 

“Is Raven not at home? Why are you stalking me, Lehnsherr?” Charles grinned at him, too happy to see him and yet not quite refraining from a subtle dig at his relationship with Raven.

“I need to do my weekly check if your milk has gone bad, don’t I? Otherwise I’d be an awful stalker, Charles.”

“Idiot,” Charles laughed, and gladly accepted Erik’s welcoming hug. Without thinking, he buried his face in Erik’s neck, held on a little tighter to him than would have been considered normal but at this moment, Charles didn’t care. “It’s good to see you, my friend,” he murmured into the collar of Erik’s shirt and Erik replied with a soft hum, his big hand smoothing up and down Charles’s back.

When they parted, his face felt warm and he couldn’t stop himself from smiling, all thoughts of Moira already forgotten. “Let’s play chess and order something to eat.”

Erik only grinned back in reply.

*

Slowly, they had fallen into the habit of meeting up for lunch almost every day. It wasn’t something that had been initiated by Charles but by Erik, who suddenly showed up at his building one day and asked him if he was free. Charles had more than readily agreed to it, and so their daily lunch-date routine had started.

It occurred to Charles that it was a bit strange that it was just him at lunch with Erik, not Raven or even Hank, but just the two of them. Charles had seen Erik’s timetable before and he wondered if the other man might have tried to swap courses just so he could make room for their latest daily ritual. Perhaps he was supposed to feel a little guilty for letting Erik do this, and maybe he was also supposed to feel bad that Raven was apparently not even aware of their meetings but Charles simply couldn’t be _arsed_ to find it within him to care about all this in the slightest. His selfishness was sometimes a little bigger than his ego.

What had started as simple half-an-hour lunch dates between classes slowly turned into spending more and more evenings together, playing chess and discussing what was going on in the world. Erik began to open up to Charles in a way he doubted anyone else was ever permitted to see. He told him about his childhood, how the first few years alone with his father had been anything but pleasant until his stepmother had come along and turned Erik’s father into a better man.

“She’s great, you know,” Erik sighed deeply. “I can’t think of a better mother.”

They were sitting next to each other on the floor in Charles’s living room, their backs resting against the couch behind them, their sides pressed comfortably against one another. Charles’s old TV had exploded the other day but they were staring at the lifeless, stinking thing nonetheless as if by magic, it would come back to life.

“I’m glad at least one of us has got a loving family, Erik.” Charles hadn’t meant to sound bitter and he cringed at his words as soon as they had left his mouth. He offered Erik an apologetic smile which the other accepted with a nod.

“Have you heard anything new about your mysterious brother?”

“No,” Charles sighed, rubbing his face. “My solicitor just gives me a monthly call to remind me that I ought to find him. I just don’t know where to start, really. Mother’s documents in her study are a right mess and it will take weeks to work my way through them.”

“Well, I suppose that’s what you’ll be doing over Christmas then, huh?” Erik gently nudged Charles’s shoulder with his.

“Merry fucking Christmas to myself.”

Erik patted Charles’s thigh before he rested his hand on top of Charles’s, giving it a gentle squeeze.

“It’ll be all right. Just wait and see.”

It was just so easy to hear Erik’s words and believe them. Charles smiled gratefully as he reciprocated the gentle hand-squeeze, their fingers intertwined as he did so.

"I just keep going over and over it in my head. Why would she tell me he was dead, for goodness' sake? Is there something wrong with him? Did she want to keep me from my father for some reason, is he a nutter? Is he in prison? What if I never find my brother?" Charles broke off with a snort of humourless laughter. "Or what if I do find him, and I wish I hadn't? I just keep having the most horrible thoughts about it, Erik." 

"Oh, Charles." Erik sighed softly, and then his arm shifted against Charles's, coming up to encircle Charles's shoulders. It seemed the most natural thing in the world to let himself be pulled in against Erik's larger form, rest his cheek on Erik's shoulder and revel in the soothing strokes of Erik's big hand up and down Charles's upper arm. 

"I'm too young for this shit," Charles muttered, his voice half-muffled by Erik's sleeve. 

"I know," Erik said, in that low, soothing tone Charles' had only ever heard from mothers and grandmothers and nannies on television, people who cared. "Ich weiß, mein Spatz." 

Charles closed his eyes. Erik was such a comforting presence, his strong arms and the rhythm of his chest as it moved with his breaths. If only he could just stay here, in this room with Erik, and not have to think about all this _will_ rubbish; if only he could just be like other undergrads, with nothing more to worry about than their next essay. 

It was a moment before he realised that Erik's hand had migrated to his hair, stroking the strands back from Charles's face. That, too, was good, and Charles let himself sink into the feeling, his head tipping back, chin lifting. Dimly, he was conscious of Erik turning his face, the smell of Erik's cologne under his jaw where Charles's nose was almost brushing the skin. God, it would take so little, just to lean up and kiss him. Erik's fingers moved gently, steadily, and his breath was on Charles's cheekbone, soft little puffs. Charles closed his eyes. The motions of Erik's fingers had slowed now, trailing one last time down over Charles's scalp before they drifted below his ear, cupped his jaw. Charles felt Erik's gentle pressure lifting his chin, and when he opened his eyes, Erik was there, looking at him. Searching. Helplessly, Charles felt his lips part. Erik's eyes flickered down to follow the movement. 

"Charles!" A sharp rap on the door shattered the fragile tableau. "Charles, are you in there?"

“Das kann doch nicht wahr sein…” Erik muttered under his breath. He rested his forehead against Charles’s, eyes closed as they brushed their noses against one another lightly before he withdrew with reluctance, leaving Charles blinking in confusion. “Come on,” he said with a slightly raspy voice as he offered Charles a hand which the other took gratefully, letting himself be pulled up.

“One of these days I’m going to murder Raven,” he sighed. He heard Erik stifling a laugh behind him and he couldn’t help but smile as well.

“Well, thank you for gracing us with your presence, Charles. What the fuck were you two _doing_?” Raven had her arms crossed over her chest as she looked at them expectantly while Hank waved them hello with a shy little smile.

“We were talking about my dead mother, Raven. Usual stuff, you know,” Charles replied brightly. At least Raven had the decency to blush and drop her demanding demeanour.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to come off as...bitchy. I’ve had a stressful day, and --”

Charles interrupted her with a wave of his hand. “It’s fine. Would you like to go out?” He was never one to hold a grudge, especially not against Raven who looked like a kicked dog when Charles actually managed to embarrass her for once for things other than his clothing taste and terrible pick-up lines. He could see that she was grateful for the sudden change of topic and she happily suggested a few places to go to.

In the end, they ended up at the pub where Raven had first met Erik. Which was fine enough by Charles since they managed to get their favourite corner of the pub and Erik was sharing the bench with Charles, comfortably pressed up against his side, warm and steady and perfect.

(Of course Raven was seated on Erik’s other side but Charles didn’t mind in the slightest -- not when both of Erik’s arms were draped across the backrest behind Raven and him, especially not when Erik subtly circled Charles’s shoulder with his fingertips.)

Erik and Raven were laughing about some joke Hank had made when Charles checked his phone. He had received a new e-mail from his solicitor just an hour ago which served as a reminder that he eventually had to deal with his mother’s last will. The sudden shift in his mood was more than palpable.

“Do you want another beer?” Hank asked as he got up from his chair. Raven nodded eagerly, Charles still stared at his phone, unresponsive, and Erik… Well, Erik watched him with mild concern on his face.

“Charles?”

“What?” He looked up, wondering why it seemed as though he had everyone’s attention.

“Are you okay?” Raven asked tentatively, and Charles hated, hated, _hated_ how suddenly everyone was wondering if he was doing fine.

“I, uh,” he cleared his throat as he tried to put on a smile which looked more like a grimace. “I’m tired, I’m sorry. I better go home, if you don’t mind.”

“No, of course not.” Raven reached over to give his arm a gentle squeeze but it really didn’t help him to feel better.

“Shall I walk you home?” Erik said softly as Charles carefully moved around the table, catching him off-guard.

“Sorry?”

“Shall I walk you home?”

Charles hesitated. He glanced up, seeking Raven's eyes, and found both her and Hank wearing identical expressions of concern. He couldn't stand that, their pity, directed at him. Part of him wanted to traipse home on his own, the better to feel sorry for himself, but Raven didn't seem put out by Erik's gentlemanly offer, and truth be told, Charles wanted nothing more than to hook his arm through Erik's and slump against him, let Erik take some of the weight of the world off his shoulders. 

So he said, "Please...if it's not too much trouble." 

"No trouble at all," Erik said, reaching for his scarf. "Come on. If we leave now, we should be able to get back before it starts to rain." 

The air outside felt frigid after the warmth of the pub with its open fire and the heated press of bodies. Charles found himself pressing close to Erik involuntarily, and Erik didn't seem to mind, taking Charles's arm as they meandered together through the dark. There weren't many people about at this time of night -- a few bicycles zipped past, bells jangling as they juddered over the cobblestones, and Erik muttered "Bloody cyclists" under his breath, which made Charles snort a laugh. Probably, that had been Erik's intention. 

He didn't want to think about why this felt so good, leaning on Erik's arm, soaking up his warmth in the autumn night. He didn't want to think about his mother, about his will, about the lost brother in Germany he might never find. Erik was firm and strong beside him, a barrier between Charles and the world, and Charles's mind simply turned off. As they reached St Aldate's, manoeuvring past the bus stops and gaggles of late-night commuters to the doors of Christ Church, Charles let his eyes fall closed, trusting Erik entirely to pull him the rest of the way. 

Just outside the lodge, they stopped. It took a moment before Charles opened his eyes. By this time, a light rain had begun to fall, so fine as to be almost mist, and Erik's eyelashes were dusted with it, the lamplight glinting on the fine drops of water. 

"Charles," Erik said. His voice was soft, and the yellow light made his inclement eyes almost hazel, deep as pools. Charles lifted his chin into the touch of Erik's fingers, cradling his jaw. 

"Thank you," Charles said quietly, "for walking me home." 

They were very close. Charles fancied he could almost hear the beating of Erik's heart beneath the layers of his thick coat and jumper and shirt; certainly, he could hear his ragged breaths. 

"Will you be all right?" Erik asked. It was little more than a whisper, but Charles smiled softly, nodded. 

"Promise," he said. 

Erik bit his lip, studying Charles for a moment, before he laughed quietly, murmuring to himself under his breath, “Ach, scheiß drauf,” and then leaned in. 

The first touch of their lips seemed absolutely and utterly unsurprising. Erik had hardly an inch to move before his mouth found Charles's, a gentle pressure, as if they always bade each other goodnight like this. As if they'd been doing it for years. It wasn't until Erik drew back that awareness rushed through Charles like hot water, that Erik had kissed him, Erik had _kissed_ him. 

Around them, the quietness of the town went on unchanged; it was only Charles's heart, then, that seemed to be rattling off its hinges. "Erik," he started to say, but then Erik was there again, kissing him, and this time Charles let his lips part, let Erik cling to his mouth for a moment, a suggestion of dampness before he drew away. 

For a long second they only looked at each other, hands loosely clasped between their bodies. Charles felt utterly devoid of speech. His mouth tingled. 

"Well," Erik said, at length. His voice sounded strained, wondering. "Goodnight, Charles." 

He was halfway up the street before Charles recovered the power of speech. 

"Goodnight," he whispered, but there was nobody but the night to hear him.


	7. Chapter 7

How Charles managed to sleep that night, he didn’t know. It must have truly been a miracle since the first thought that seeped into his sleep-clouded brain after waking up was, _He kissed me. Erik fucking Lehnsherr kissed me._

As if to reassure himself that it had really happened, he touched his lips and traced them lightly. Over and over again.

_It really happened. Twice._

Outside, rain was splattering against the windows while the wind was howling like a wounded animal but Charles found he couldn’t care less. That was par for the course in Oxford at this time of year. For the first time in weeks, he felt something like hope. He couldn’t be entirely alone with his feelings, and that thought alone was worth holding on to.

Thankfully, his labs didn’t start until noon, so he could still sleep some more -- although the storm outside made it basically impossible for him to get any rest. He looked at the clock on his bedside table -- 8:45 AM -- and then a thought occurred to him.

With a little skip in his walk, Charles gathered his clothes and strode into the bathroom to get ready for the day. He wasn’t in a hurry, didn’t have to be, and so he took extra care with his face today, used a little more of his favourite aftershave than usual. And when he was ready to leave, there were still twenty minutes to spare.

Once Charles had his mind set on something, he tended to be very efficient and quick about it. In this case, it took him twelve minutes to reach the Engineering department. He waited outside of Erik’s lecture theatre, wishing he wasn’t half as eager and anxious about seeing him again as he actually was, his poor fingernails suffering from his nervousness.

Really, how much longer could such a lecture take? Outside, the rain had slowed to a halt, the windows misting up with condensation. Charles tipped his head back against the wall and closed his eyes.

Sighing, he ran a hand through his hair. For someone who was so eager to see Erik again, he felt all of a sudden quite unprepared as to what to do. What was he going to say?

_Hey, I really liked that thing you did with your mouth when you pressed it against mine. Care to repeat it again?_

Or maybe...

_Look, I’m straight but you’ve given my dick lots of confusing feelings lately so how about we have a good long talk about it and see how it works out?_

Charles cringed. He wasn’t even considering the DNA Helicase pick-up line which he had used on Moira. Erik wasn't the pick-up line type. That was the whole point; Erik was...different.

After what felt like an interminable period of time, the door opened, and the first few students began to dribble out of the lecture theatre and into the hallway. Charles flattened himself against the wall, trying to keep out of the way of the tide, and he was still warily watching the flow of students when a hand came down on his shoulder and Erik's voice said, "Charles?"

Charles heart literally skipped a beat. He'd always thought that was a ridiculous figure of speech, but as he looked up into Erik's face, his expression surprised and pleased, Charles could swear he actually felt his heart do a little leap in his chest.

 _Say something, Xavier. Say anything_.

"I, uh. I wondered if you fancied a bit of a walk before lunch?"

Erik's smile brightened. He hitched his rucksack further up onto his shoulder, and Charles fought down the mad urge to take his hand.

"Let's go for a turn around University Parks," he suggested. Charles grinned so broadly that he fancied he could hear the muscles of his face protesting.

"Great. I've got nowhere to be for a while, anyway."

By the time they reached the park, it seemed obvious that neither one of them was about to bring up...well. The Thing. The kiss. Charles rather felt that, since Erik had initiated it, it was up to Erik to mention it, and so far, Erik was simply smiling slightly to himself, hands shoved deep in his coat pockets as they ambled down the path. But there was none of the tension between them that Charles had feared, either. The atmosphere between them felt warm, charged with a certain kind of energy. Charles wasn't sure where to go from here, but he wasn't disheartened, exactly. It was the good kind of confusion.

They'd reached the far side of the park, the deserted place beyond the pavilion where nobody ventured much, when he felt the brush of Erik's fingers against the inside of his wrist. At first, he thought he'd imagined it -- Erik was still looking straight ahead, his face placid -- but then the fingertips stroked slowly down over Charles's exposed wrist, into his palm, and the touch on the sensitive heel of his hand made Charles gasp.

Erik didn't turn to look. All at once, Charles felt himself flood with a heat completely inappropriate to the delicacy of this touch, just Erik's fingertips against his hand. Then Erik let his fingers dip a little lower, sliding into the spaces between Charles's, and Charles felt abruptly as if the top of his head might come off.

 _Erik_.

Erik still wasn't looking at him. Erik fucking Lehnsherr was _holding his hand in the park_ , and acting as if the behaviour of his hand was completely out of his own control. Helpless, Charles squeezed a little, Erik's hand warm and dry in his own, and he fancied he saw Erik smile. There might have been a faint blush on his cheeks, but Charles didn’t want to stare too hard in case Erik noticed.

The air was chilly and smelled like wet leaves and earth and it seemed like it was just the right time for a cup of freshly brewed coffee. Or tea. Either way, as they kept walking, Charles couldn’t help but ask, “Fancy a drink? It’s bloody freezing today, isn’t it?”

“Sure,” Erik shrugged, giving Charles’s hand one more squeeze before he let go in order to stuff his hands into the pockets of his coat. There wasn’t much time left for Charles to feel disappointed at the loss of contact, for Erik companionably bumped their shoulders together, accompanied by a shy smile.

They picked the coffee shop nearest to the Biology department, as Erik had offered to drop him off for his lesson afterwards. At the back of his mind, Charles wondered if this what a date felt like with someone you really, really, _really_ liked. His insides definitely turned into liquid at that thought and he hid his smile by quickly taking a sip from his coffee. It struck Charles as amusing that he -- someone who would drown himself in sweets -- preferred his coffee black while Erik -- the sort of bloke who would usually stare back at you from the cover of Men’s Health -- liked his coffee best when it was filled to the brim with sugar and other unhealthy adornments. Charles couldn't bite back his smile as he watched Erik’s face glow in delight when he finally received his calorie bomb, disguised as an inconspicuous cup of coffee, along with two triple chocolate cookies.

“Two, Erik? Really?” Charles raised one elegant brow, to which Erik clicked his tongue.

“One for me, and one for you. If you don’t want it, I’ll gladly eat it myself, thank you very much.”

“ _Well_ , in that case…” Charles trailed off, heaving a grave sigh as he took the proffered cookie. “Don’t want it to go to waste.”

_All right, Xavier, maybe this is a date._

Fuck, hopefully, that thought wasn’t written all across his face. Charles would be mortified if Erik knew what was going on in his mind.

“So, er, how was your day?” he asked in order to distract himself, trying to sound as casual as possible.

“All right,” Erik replied after having taken a bite from his cookie. “It’s better now that I’m actually talking to someone who’s more fun than my professor.”

Charles accepted the compliment with a crooked smile. “What do you mean?”

“My supervisor? Shaw? He’s a complete tosser --” Charles couldn’t help but feel proud of Erik for having begun to pick up his classmates' British slang. “He’s treating us as if we were bloody lab rats with all his exams and weird tests that he never announces. Also, he’s such a grammar Nazi. You’d think he’d go easy on me with, you know, not being a native speaker and all that.”

“Are you sure you don’t want my cookie? Seems like you need it more than I do.”

Erik laughed. "It'd take more than a cookie to make Shaw palatable. No, you eat it. Make me feel better about eating mine."

Charles snorted. "As if you need to worry. You look like something out of Sports Illustrated."

"Are you paying me a compliment, Xavier?" The corner of Erik's mouth tugged up in an expression that Charles would have called flirtatious if he'd seen it on a girl. He was horribly afraid his cheeks were flushing.

"I'm just saying," Charles muttered, "you take good care of yourself, I'm sure you can afford the occasional biscuit."

"And here I thought you were complimenting me on my physique," Erik said, throwing Charles a wink. He glanced down into his coffee, still smiling. "You got pretty good at running with me, over the summer. We should get back into that routine."

"Are you saying I'm getting fat?"

Erik grinned and kicked Charles under the table. "Yeah, you're turning into a right tubmachine."

"Fuck you." But Charles couldn't hide his grin. Shit, though, time was getting on. Much as he would have loved to sit in the ATS with Erik for the rest of the afternoon… "Ugh, Erik, I have to go. I'm going to be late."

"Yeah, all right." Erik pushed his chair back and stood up, slipping the remnants of his cookie into his pocket. "Come on, then, I'll walk you."

"I could take myself there, you know," Charles said, but still, he didn't resist when Erik fell into step alongside him as they began the trudge back to the science park.

When they finally arrived, standing outside the lecture hall, there was one brief moment of awkwardness as they tried to say goodbye to one another. The thing was, how exactly were they supposed to part? With a pat on the shoulder and an _It was good to see you, old chap_? A handshake? A hug? Or ( _please_ ) another sweet parting kiss? Charles found this situation most frustrating.

“Well, here we are,” he said, stubbing the tip of his shoe against the floor. Erik hummed in reply. While his gaze was fixed upon his shoe, he didn’t fail to notice that Erik moved closer -- and then suddenly stopped when they were passed by a group of fellow students.

“When will you be free again?”

That question was a little unexpected. Even more so, since Erik was the one who had blurted it out.

“Uhm,” Charles swallowed, scratching his cheek. “Around… Around half past four? I think?”

“Would you,” Erik’s tongue briefly flicked across his lips. “Would you, you know, like to hang out again?” When Charles didn’t answer at first, Erik added quickly, “You don’t have to, of course. I was just asking, I mean --”

“Erik.” Charles said, softly, smiling. “Calm your mind, my friend.”

“I _am_ calm, Charles.”

“I can see that,” he snorted. “And the answer is yes. I’d quite fancy hanging out with you some more when I’m finished.”

Relief flickered across the other’s features and Charles noted how his entire posture relaxed visibly. “Great. Good. That’s… good. Shall I pick you up again?”

“Yes, I’ll text you when I’m done.”

“Good.”

“Good.”

They continued to smile stupidly at each other some more until someone bumped against Charles, dragging him unceremoniously back into reality. “Well, I better get going. The lecture’s about to start.”

“Yes, of course. See you later,” There was a moment of hesitation, and then -- before he could allow himself to get cold feet -- Charles quickly tilted his head upwards to press a brief kiss to Erik’s cheek, barely brushing the corner of his mouth.

When he noticed the look on Erik’s face, he began to laugh and turned away to walk into the lecture hall.

*

It seemed strangely natural to walk out of his last lecture of the day to find Erik waiting for him, hands in his pockets and a wide grin on his face. Together, the two of them walked the fifteen minutes back to Erik's room, by unspoken agreement. St John's was slightly closer to the science area, although only slightly. Erik lived in one of the bigger rooms on the main college site, the sort of room they used for film sets, and Charles couldn't help but pause to admire it as they made their way up the stairs. He'd been to Erik's room before, of course, but they more often tended to end up back at Charles's. Erik's stunning view and high ceilings were still something of a novelty.

"Admiring the architecture?" Erik winked at him as he closed the door behind them. Charles laughed.

"It's admirable," he pointed out, and Erik shrugged.

"You get used to it. It's weird, if you're in the company of beautiful things for long enough, you stop noticing. Usually."

His eyes met Charles's, and Charles felt himself flush. He was sure Erik hadn't meant anything by his remark, but he knew he'd never stopped noticing how beautiful Erik was, how perfect his profile, how his hair glinted red in the light. He cleared his throat.

"Shall we watch something?"

"Star Wars time, I think," Erik declared, throwing himself down onto the little futon thing that functioned as a sofa. "Come here."

Charles wasted no time in working his way over to the narrow little futon, tucking himself up against Erik's side while Erik fumbled with the remote control. They'd already done a Star Wars marathon more than once, but there could never be too many times. When Erik leaned back to get a couple of beers out of the mini-fridge, Charles took his readily, opening it and taking a long swig. It had been a tiring, wet, grey day. He deserved this.

Watching Star Wars with Erik was a delight for Charles. Not only because Erik spoke along to every line in the film, perfectly parrotting it the way Hank would have probably done (in fact, this was only the second time Erik had watched the films in English), but also because he loved the way Erik commented on the films. Either he pointed out which scenes were newly added (“Ugh, was that really necessary?”) or liked to turn serious scenes into comedy by adding his own ad-lib dubbing. Charles didn’t protest when Erik suddenly switched off the volume and started to invent voices and jokes for the tiny characters on the screen. Soon enough, they were both doing their own version of Star Wars.

“We should have recorded this and put it up on Youtube,” Erik sighed when the film was done, his face looking rather remorseful.

“You really think anybody would watch this?” Charles shook his head at the bizarre idea.

Erik nodded eagerly. “Oh yes! I remember, when I was about thirteen years old, _Lord of the Weed_ was insanely popular at German schools.”

“Lord of the _what_?” Charles giggled in disbelief.

“You heard me right,” Erik grinned back. “I think every boy in my class knew who Gabba Gandalf was.”

“Oh Erik.” Charles sighed deeply, burying his face in his palms. “You’re a bigger nerd than I had expected.”

“Is that a bad thing?” Erik’s voice was closer now, his entire posture shifted towards Charles, and when Charles looked up, Erik was smiling at him, eyes sparkling with mischief.

Charles coughed, feeling a little intimidated by the sudden lack of personal space. “Well, _some_ people would probably say you’re never going to get laid that way.” When Erik’s eyebrows suddenly shot up in bewilderment, he couldn’t stop himself from grinning slyly.

“ _Some_ people?” Erik leaned a little closer to Charles, reducing the space between their faces until Charles could feel the warmth of Erik's breath grazing his skin.

Charles nodded as he repeated with a murmur, “ _Some_ people.” With a brief flick of his tongue across his lips, not quite missing the way Erik glanced at them, he felt brave enough to add, “Lucky for you that I’m not _some people_.”

“And why’s that so?”

They weren’t drunk _per se_ but Charles felt light-headed, intoxicated by their closeness. Slowly, he brushed his nose against Erik’s, feeling the other’s shivery sigh against his lips. “Because,” he said quietly, “then I wouldn’t do this.” And with that, he closed the distance between them by gently pressing his lips against Erik’s. Charles felt him smiling against his mouth.

Erik’s hands came up to cup Charles’s face as he drew back just a bit to look at Charles again. He looked a bit confused, just the way Charles had been feeling for the past few months. When Erik leaned in to kiss him again, Charles happily met him half-way. And, God, Erik was a good kisser. Within seconds, Charles’s mouth became pliant under Erik’s, opened up to him and allowed him a first tentative brush of tongue. For a moment he was truly concerned that he might just die of a heart attack before this could lead anywhere else. And then Erik's big hand slid around to cradle the back of Charles's head, holding him steady, and Charles couldn't help but yield to the slight pressure, breath hitching as Erik tongued at the corner of his mouth, drew Charles's lower lip gently between his own.

God, this was _Erik_. Charles's head was still swimming with the thought of it, the warm smell of Erik's skin and the heat of his mouth on Charles's. With girls, Charles was used to sort of guiding kisses, but Erik had control of this one utterly, little clinging kisses turning into deep open-mouthed ones until his tongue brushed over the roof of Charles's mouth and Charles couldn't bite back his groan.

He didn't know where to put his hands. Erik had hold of him firmly, but Charles's hands fluttered helplessly over the front of Erik's chest, gripping at his shoulders, his biceps. Dimly, Charles became aware of being manhandled backwards, just a little, so his back was pinned to the back of the futon and Erik was leaning fully into his body, their chests pressed together so close that Charles could feel Erik's buttons through his t-shirt. And then Erik's hand slid down over the nape of Charles's neck, down over his flank, finding purchase at his waist, and Charles hitched helplessly against him, wanting...God...wanting --

They broke apart as if by mutual agreement. Charles's eyes were wide, and he was relieved to see the same mystified expression on Erik's face, his mouth half-open and his shoulders heaving with his breaths. God, what on earth _did_ Charles want? He was hard, he realised, with a hot flush of mortification; of course he was bloody hard, after being so thoroughly kissed, but this was Erik and Erik's dick was tenting his jeans and it looked like the fucking Loch Ness Monster from here and all of a sudden Charles was way, way out of his depth.

"I, uh." He struggled to sit up, pushing his hair back from his face. "I think we're...drunk."

Erik cleared his throat, wiping his hands on his thighs in a nervous little gesture. "Yeah. Um. Sorry."

"No, it's -- it was both of us, it doesn't matter." Charles shook his head, looked away.

Could it really not matter that kissing Erik had been better than any kiss he'd ever had? That even now, uncertain as he was, he still wanted Erik's big hands on him, everywhere? Charles bit his lip. "Maybe we should call it a night?"

"Probably, yes," Erik said, getting up. "You, uh. You know where the blankets and things are?"

"I'll...I'll go home, I think," Charles said, standing. "Cold air, you know. Your own personal remedy."

They smiled at each other, and Charles felt a glimmer of hope that maybe this could still be all right. Somehow. Ordinarily, Erik would probably have tried to stop Charles going, but clearly he saw the wisdom of the situation, because all he said was, "All right, then. Take care, Charles."

By the time Charles got back to Christ Church, the walk and the night air had just about taken care of his erection. That only left the turmoil inside his head.


	8. Interlude: Erik

Blinking slowly, Erik awoke with a small groan. For some reason, he was exhausted beyond good and evil -- not physically, but mentally. He buried his face in his pillow, refusing to get up for another ten minutes while wishing his headache was the real reason he felt so awful, and not that pale freckly Biology student he'd inexplicably snogged the face off.

_Fucking Charles._

Erik wanted to die of shame and embarrassment. What had he been even thinking when he pursued Charles the way he had last night? Had he been thinking _at all_ when it happened? Probably not. Which made Erik wonder if his Master's funding had been justified, since nobody in the world should want to fund such a dumb arse as he apparently was.

The worst thing about this was that he had _liked_ it. He liked kissing Charles, loved to make him blush like a virgin, and see him laugh at his stupid jokes.

“Kacke.” Erik punched his pillow with an angry grunt and then pushed himself up. There was no way he’d be able to go back to sleep. It was still misty outside, dawn had barely set in and therefore it was perfect for an early morning run. Maybe the fresh air would clear his mind while the cold temperature would hopefully freeze his dick off for once and for good.

While running through the park close to his rooms certainly helped him to deal with his agitation, it wouldn’t solve the Big Gay Issue that was now lurking in his life like the proverbial elephant in the room. Nor would it give him an answer as to what to do with Charles next time he had to face him.

If there ever was a next time.

Erik wasn’t sure he could handle seeing him again so soon. He still could recall what he tasted like, after all, the memory still fresh in his mind. He cringed at the memory of Charles's pliant moans, his frantic breaths. This was really, really bad. Not least because Erik was supposed to be dating Charles's best friend, and Erik was well aware that she was very, very into him. (He pushed down the little protesting voice in the back of his mind that said surely _he_ was Charles's best friend, these days). And really, there was no logical reason why Erik wouldn't be into Raven. She was tall, blonde, gorgeous, intelligent and endearingly awkward in a way most beautiful girls weren't. She made Erik laugh, matched him intellectually, and could just about drink him under the table when she tried. Most importantly of all, she was female. Maybe if Charles had been a skinny, freckly little nerdy Biologist with boobs, Erik could have understood. Looks weren't everything, after all. But he was 24 years old and he couldn't recall ever having felt the faintest flicker of attraction to another man. 

Part of him thought, as he ran, that maybe this just proved that nobody was really a zero on the Kinsey scale. Maybe everybody was a little bit flexible for people they clicked with. And it wouldn't be so bad, would it? Kissing Charles...God, yes, Erik wanted to kiss him. Charles's mouth was obscene, soft and pink and made to be bitten. The slight scrape of his stubble had been new, but not unpleasant. But could he go further? Erik tried to imagine undressing Charles, their chests flat together. The weight of Charles's cock in his hand. 

Okay, so that thought was a bit weird. But then, he certainly hadn't minded feeling Charles rubbing up against his thigh, hard and ready. If he was being honest, it had been...hot, underneath the prevailing wash of panic. Knowing Charles was like that for _him_. It was weird, but maybe…? 

Jesus. Erik shook his head as if to clear it and stepped up his pace, soles of his trainers pounding the dirt. What the hell was he going to say to Raven: "Hi, sorry, but I'm completely gay for your best friend so I'm just going to dump you for his skinny white arse, if you don't mind." That could cause conflict between them. And what would his father say? He wasn't homophobic, per se, but Erik could just imagine the look on his face if he came home with a boyfriend. Besides which, the thought of other men still did nothing for Erik. He'd tried, just to see if everything was different now, if he'd seen the light, somehow. But no, the other blokes in his building, even the objectively handsome ones, hadn't suddenly filled him with blazing lust. He didn't want to fuck men. He wanted to -- God -- he wanted to fuck Charles. And that meant that it had to be some weird anomaly, a crush he should put behind himself until it went away. It was just a long time since he'd got any, that was all. He did like to be a gentleman, but maybe he needed to take Raven out, wine her and dine her and remind himself just how much he loved women, their soft curves and heavy breasts and their slickness on his fingers. 

Hmmm, his dick was reacting to that thought quite promisingly. Clearly Erik wasn't broken. No: that seemed like the best plan. He'd call Raven when he was home and showered, and then after a few weeks, he and Charles would laugh about this. 

Probably. 

That was at least what he held on to until the next time he came face to face with Charles, looking just too fucking hopeful and happy to see Erik again after their last encounter. If he ignored him and brushed past him, it would certainly send a clear message that, no, he wasn’t interested. But it would also very likely ruin his friendship -- or whatever this thing between them was -- and that was something Erik hated even more than thinking of how much he wanted to see Charles looking utterly debauched in his sheets.

So instead of making a complete dick of himself by ignoring Charles’s entire existence, he grunted at him with a nod, hoping Charles would merely think he was too tired to talk.

At least they weren’t entirely alone. They were in the library once more where Charles had spotted Erik sitting at one of the tables, nose buried in a book. Sitting down next to him after having said hello, Charles gave him a somewhat expectant look. Erik tried to ignore the fact that Charles's attention felt like it was burning a hole into the side of his face.

“Haven’t heard anything from you after…last time,” Charles said airily, but Erik could see he was trying his best not to seem too desperate. He almost felt sorry for him. “Been busy?”

Erik made a vaguely affirmative sound. “Exams, you know.”

“Oh.” Charles looked down at the book in front of Erik and then back again. “Well, uh, I just wanted to ask if…if, you know, you’d like to come out with the others and me later on?”

“Who are ‘the others’?”

“Well, you know,” Charles shrugged. “Raven and Hank. We’re quite picky when it comes to our friends.”

“Where to?” It would have been rude to pretend for any longer that he was talking to a ghost and so, with much reluctance, Erik finally looked up. Christ, it was difficult not to get lost in that crazy shade of blue of Charles’s eyes. That colour _couldn’t_ be real.

“Cinema,” Charles replied, a spark of hope lighting up his face. “To be honest, I’m not really sure what’s on at the moment. Probably another Marvel film.” He smiled at him and Erik felt his aloof countenance slip. _Cute_ suddenly came into his mind -- a thought which he quickly chased away with a shake of his head.

“Is that a no?” Charles frowned.

“No! I mean -- yes, I will come with you, and _no_ , it’s not a no.”

“A double no, then? You know that two negatives make a positive.”

“I’m aware of that, yes.” He wasn’t going to give Charles the satisfaction of returning his smile. He had to stay determined, resolute. Stern, even. Like with a puppy that had made a mess on the floor. He couldn't suddenly go all soft and lovey-dovey and give Charles the wrong impression, after all, could he?

Except...shit, he'd just compared Charles to a bloody _puppy_. How the mighty had fallen.

“All right, then," Charles said, "It’s settled. We’re going to meet up at eight o’clock and go grab a beer and something to eat first. Shall I pick you up?”

“I, ah.” Erik scratched his jaw, looking pointedly away from Charles as he said, “I’ll go with Raven, I suppose.”

“Oh.” Charles drew in a sharp breath, shifting his weight from one leg to another. “Um. Okay. I’ll see you then.”

“Yeah, talk later.”

When Charles left, Erik sneaked a glance at him, watching him go with slightly hunched shoulders. Well, that had gone well, hadn't it?

 _Erik, no,_ his inner voice berated him, sounding surprisingly a lot like Charles Xavier himself, _You fucked up big time._

He bristled. He reached for his phone. He grunted impatiently when it took him four attempts to unlock the bloody screen. He opened WhatsApp. He ignored the chat window with Charles. He entertained a moment of self-righteousness as he opened a new conversation with Raven instead.

_Charles invited me to come along with you to the cinema. Can I pick you up later on?_

The reply came half a minute later and Erik smiled to himself. Raven was probably sitting in a lecture now, bored out of her mind.

_Well, I should hope so, darling. Been too fucking long since we’ve done something together._

_I know something we could do before we go out._

Raven typed. Deleted. Typed again. And then --

_Erik Lehnsherr, you dirty German._

He grinned despite the slightly sinking feeling in his stomach as he recalled Charles’s expression when he had left.

_Shall I come at 7?_

_I hope not_

Erik snorted into his hand. 

_Now who's being dirty?_

A moment passed, and then: _Oh, both of us, I hope._

Weird, how Erik could manage to feel simultaneously turned on and nauseated. The thought of finally going to bed with Raven was hardly unattractive, but still, there was something at the back of his mind that was making him unsettled and anxious at the thought. It was guilt, of course, but that was ridiculous. He had nothing to be guilty about. It wasn't as if he was going to be thrusting into Raven and pretending it was Charles's narrow boy-hips in his hands, Charles's soft red mouth under his. 

Fucking hell. 

_See you later_ , Erik typed, _Be prepared_. 

He could almost see Raven's grin when her message came back: _Oh, believe me, I've been prepared for weeks._

When Erik arrived at Raven's building, he felt like a thief creeping up the stairs, part of him petrified that Charles would just happen to come out into the corridor and catch him. _Catch_ him. As if he was doing something wrong. He knew he wasn't; if anything, what he had done wrong was snogging Charles that night. Maybe that was the source of his guilt -- maybe he ought to tell Raven about it, confess. 

Somehow, though, he didn't think that would be for the best. 

Raven opened the door in an oversized t-shirt and boxer shorts, looking like she'd just rolled out of Erik's bed after a long night of sex. It was an attractive image, Erik couldn't deny, and so was the smile on her face that said how happy she was to see him. 

"Come here, you." She held out her arms, and he let himself fall into them; let her shut the door and manhandle him up against it. Part of him said that really, he should be the one taking control of this kiss, but Raven was nothing if not bossy, and somehow Erik didn't quite feel the necessary momentum to start pushing her about, manipulating the kiss. 

He was too well-trained as a gentleman, that was all. Clearly. 

They ended up on Raven's narrow little bed, Erik underneath, Raven's thigh slotted between his. It was...nice, he had to admit that. Her breasts were soft and heavy against his chest, her thigh a firm pressure against his hardening cock, and her mouth was warm and deft, not quite as yielding as Charles's, but a nice mouth, all the same. 

...God, he _had_ to stop thinking about Charles. That was the whole point of this after all, wasn't it? 

As if she had sensed something was off, Raven kissed him with more fervour than before while her hands worked on his belt. She didn’t ask him what was going on in his mind, and Erik quietly thanked God, or whoever was up there, for that. When she had finally freed him from his clothes, he flipped her over, wanting to return the favour. And once Raven was bare beneath him, beautiful and soft and _willing_ , Erik had to try a little less hard to push thoughts about Charles out of his mind.

*

The plan was to get food first and then some beer at a pub before they’d head out to the cinema. Erik floated on his post-sex high for approximately one and a half hours until he and Raven arrived at McDonald’s where Charles and Hank had already been waiting for them. They were both giggling like silly teenagers when they entered the building, both of them looking a little dishevelled, like they didn’t even want to cover up the fact that they just had had mind-blowing and long-overdue sex.

And yet, as soon as Erik’s eyes settled on Charles, his smile faltered. Charles’s features had fallen for a split second before it seemed as if he was trying to put on a brave face, his smile unusually strained and tight-lipped.

“There you are! We thought we’d have to go alone,” he greeted them, giving Raven a less heartfelt hug than he would have usually given her.  
"As if we'd stand you guys up," Raven berated him. She didn't seem to have noticed Charles's less than enthusiastic response to her presence, which made Erik feel rather conflicted. On the first hand, he couldn't help but be rather smug -- clearly he'd wiped her mind for the evening. But on the other hand...well. He'd wanted to go back to his thing with Raven so as not to cause a rift between her and Charles, but now here was Charles looking like a kicked puppy, however hard he tried to hide it, and Erik felt like a cad. 

But, he supposed, he'd have to push through it. He'd made a mistake, and now he'd have to pay the price for it. 

They got to the cinema only just before the trailers started, which meant the theatre was already dark by the time they stumbled in, giggling and tripping over each other on the stairs. Raven plopped down on the end of a row, leaving Erik to sit beside her...and Charles on the other side of Erik, which was not exactly what Erik would have wanted. Not that he didn't want to talk to Charles, but sitting here in the dark with him, in the cinema was not exactly conducive to Erik getting over his weird tense feelings towards him. He cleared his throat, and tried his hardest to turn his body towards Raven's. Raven, consciously or otherwise, settled her hand on Erik's knee, and Erik tried to lose himself in the weight of it, the sensation of her laying claim to him. 

For about half the time, it worked. That is, when he wasn't oddly conscious of Charles shifting in the seat next to him, Charles laughing at the film, the way the light caught in his blue blue eyes. Sex with Raven had been good, sure, but it hadn't quite done the job Erik had been counting upon it to do. A huge part of him still yearned to go with Charles -- another part was desperate not to let Charles find out what had happened between himself and Raven, not wanting to see the pain in Charles's eyes. And to cap it off, now that he'd had sex with Raven, it would be so much more difficult to break up with her without seeming like a callous arsehole. 

Fuck, he'd scuppered everything. Sighing, Erik twined his fingers through Raven's and tried to force himself to concentrate on the film. Surely everything would work itself out. Things generally did, after all. 

After the film, as if by general agreement, Erik and Raven left for Erik's rooms in St John's, and Charles and Hank set off back to Christ Church. God only knew what Charles had thought of that division of people, but Erik had tried very hard not to catch his eye, not really wanting to know his feelings on the matter. It didn't come into it, he told himself, except he knew that it did. God, everything was just so complicated. Why couldn't he just be content to go back to his room with this gorgeous blonde, curl around her in bed, be happy? 

Xavier. He didn't know what it was about him, but one thing was for sure: Charles Xavier had bewitched him. 

*

Three weeks later, Erik told himself to fuck it, and called Raven.


	9. Chapter 9

For someone who was usually known for his jovial nature and friendly demeanour, Charles was extraordinarily cranky -- or rather, he had been in the most unpleasant of moods for the rest of October and almost all of November and it was getting to the point where even his professors wouldn’t voluntarily talk to him during their lessons for fear he might start a fight over Biological theories whilst inventing new ones just for the sake of arguing.

Girls who had previously fancied him felt nothing but pity for him now, wondering why poor Charles seemed so unhappy, while his male lab partners had started to call him a catty bitch behind his back. On one occasion, Charles had been summoned to help their professor with handing out books. In the end, Charles ended up dropping each book unceremoniously in front of every fellow student in the room. It was dreadful.

When some boy had once made the mistake of asking Charles if he wasn’t getting any, he had earned an icy glare which had made him feel as though Charles was right in his head, knowing all his secrets and not afraid to use them as blackmail just in case.

The only person who could stand being around Charles at that time was Hank, probably the only person in this world whom Charles would never subject to the brunt of his foul mood. He was too kind for it.

No, the reason Charles was in such a terrible state was simply that Erik refused to spend time with him. It was strange, really. Ever since that one fateful night when they had gone to the cinema -- Charles had been well aware that Erik and Raven had had sex before; he had seen Raven’s blissful post-sex face much too often not to know it when he saw it -- Erik had found excuses that allowed him either not to spend any time at all with Charles (“Sorry, but I have exams coming up…”) or just be around him when others (namely, Raven) were there as well. Charles wondered if Erik feared that he would pounce on him the moment they were left alone. Either way, he felt he had every right to feel fucking bitter about it, especially when Erik wouldn’t even talk to him on WhatsApp anymore.

It was a mess. And Charles wasn’t even really sure why.

Except that he had his suspicions.

No, scratch that.

He was certain that his relationship with Erik was suffering so much just because they had fallen victim to some drunk snogging. So what? Charles had already overcome his gay crisis, had quietly acknowledged and accepted the fact that he was attracted to Erik in the most unhealthy way possible. At first he had hoped that Erik just needed a little longer to work out his own issues with it but the moment Charles had known that Erik and Raven had slept with each other, he had said goodbye to those false hopes. Clearly, Erik had been overcome by some sort of internalised homophobia, and had decided that spending time with Charles was no longer an option. He'd chosen Raven, and that was that.

Understandably, then, Charles was more than a little surprised when he opened his door one night in late November to find Erik standing in the corridor, his hair damp from the rain, his expression full of yearning apology.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. Then Erik said, "Can I…?" and Charles stepped back unthinkingly, let Erik in and closed the door behind him.

"Erik?"

Erik pushed his hands back through his hair, shaking out the water like a dog. His eyes were fixed somewhere between Charles's wardrobe and the wall, and his shoulders were tensed. "I broke up with Raven."

Charles jerked upright. "What?" They'd been getting on so well, he'd thought -- so many dates, so many cinema evenings and mornings when Erik had run out of Raven's room in the small hours. He'd resigned himself to that being an ongoing thing for him to deal with. Had Erik gone mad?

Erik folded himself down into a cross-legged sitting position on the floor and sighed. "I broke up with her. Charles, I --" He sighed. Charles waited a moment, but Erik seemed to give no sign of having anything further to say.

Charles raised an eyebrow. "Erik -- _why_?"

Erik sighed. The sigh seemed to come from the very core of him, and when he looked up at Charles, his sea-green eyes were deep and fathomless. "Charles, you -- you know why."

Charles swallowed. He could feel his heart picking up, pounding in his throat. He didn't dare venture anything until Erik moved first. After all, he had spent so many weeks putting Erik out of his mind, and now…

Erik was shifting towards him now, Charles perched on the edge of his bed and Erik moving towards him on his knees, his eyes wide and earnest. "I -- I know you're not gay, Charles. Neither am I. I'm not even bi, usually. But something...something about you…" Erik broke off, biting his lip, and Charles's heart turned over in sympathy, welling up with love that Erik could be so brave, could be so earnest.

"Erik…" His hand found Erik's jaw, and Erik's eyes closed.

"I can't -- I can't stop thinking about you." Erik's voice was barely more than a whisper. "I don't know what I'm doing...I don't even know what guys do together, really. But I couldn't go on dating Raven when all I was thinking about was wanting to be with you." His hand came up and covered Charles's on his jaw, soft and sure. "Charles...do you…?"

Erik's expression was one of utterly raw exposure, and Charles couldn't keep him in that sort of suspense. "God, Erik, _yes_." He leaned in, snatched a kiss from Erik's mouth, brief and earnest. "I don't get it, I don't get _why_ , but yeah...Erik...I want to be with you."

“Oh, danke, Gott, danke,” Erik sighed with relief, smiling as he cupped Charles’s face and pulled him in for another, sweeter kiss. It was deliberately slow, much better than the one they had shared on the couch or the first time Erik had kissed him. This time, it managed to reflect all of their mutual feelings, laid out bare between them, vulnerable and new.

“You know,” Charles murmured in between pecking Erik’s mouth. “I find it rather lovely when you randomly switch to German.”

“Really?” Erik grinned, stupidly, kissing Charles one more time. “Is that a secret kink of yours, Xavier?”

“Oh, do shut up.” Charles coloured slightly but that didn’t put him off from dragging Erik onto his bed. Without a second thought, he began helping Erik with getting rid of his wet clothes, which was a bit of a struggle. “Are you cold?” he asked afterwards, noticing the goosebumps on his arms.

Erik waved a dismissive hand, “It’s all right.” Charles, however, still got up from the bed, not quite without protest from Erik, and went over to his wardrobe. After a bit of rummaging through it, he threw a shirt and some pyjama trousers at him.

“They probably won’t fit, but it’s worth a try,” he said as he went back to the bed where Erik tried on the clothes.

“They’ll do until tomorrow,” he replied, welcoming Charles in his arms as if it was the most natural thing to do.

“So you’re going to stay?”

“Well, what does it look like to you?”

“I’m just saying, Erik.” Charles mock-scoffed. “In case you still want to back out -- now’s the time.”

“Never. You’re not going to get rid of me anytime soon. Sorry.”

“Don’t even pretend you’re remotely sorry, darling,” Charles laughed when Erik squeezed and poked his sides until he was squirming in his arms.

“Fine, I’m not sorry. But I’m serious.”

And Charles could see from the look on Erik’s face that he indeed meant it. When he opened his mouth in an attempt to speak, there was a thick lump in his throat. How long had he waited, wished for this moment?

As a reply, he simply cupped Erik’s jaw and pressed another kiss to his lips.

*

Nothing much happened that night. They were both too overwhelmed by the newness of everything, the surprise. But when Charles blinked awake in the morning, Erik's arm thrown across his waist and his own hand loosely grasping Erik's wrist, the reality of it all soon came flooding back.

Erik was still asleep, pressed against Charles's back. His cock was hard, Charles realised with some trepidation, pressed against the underside of Charles's arse. Charles cleared his throat, shifted slightly, and Erik rolled after him, pressing his face into the space between Charles's shoulderblades.

"Mmmph." Erik's fingers clenched on Charles's wrist. "Mmmph?"

Charles couldn't help but laugh. "Erik." He poked his toe against the front of Erik's shin. "It's morning, Erik."

"Hhhhh?" Erik blinked sleepily, and then lifted his head wearily from the pillow. "Oh!"

"Oh, indeed." Charles smiled indulgently, wriggling around in Erik's arms until they were face to face. "Morning."

"Morning, Charles." Erik's long fingers came up to push Charles's hair back behind the curve of his ear. "Ughhhh."

"Ugh, indeed." But Charles was grinning. "Thanks for staying."

"You're welcome." Erik leaned in, pressed his mouth to the corner of Charles's jaw. "Can I just skip my lectures this morning, or…?"

"Why, Mr Lehnsherr, are you propositioning me…?"

The flush that sprang up on Erik's cheek was absolutely worth the nerve it had cost Charles to say that. Erik turned his face and grinned pathetically into the pillow. "If you're happy to skip your morning lectures, I am."

"You're on," Charles said, curling his fingers around the dip in the small of Erik's back, which Erik took as a cue to move in, nudging his nose against Charles’s, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth.

If every morning could start like this, Charles would be downright bloody happy. Erik was warm and unexpectedly tender with him, treating this new thing between them with utter care and Charles was grateful for it. While Erik aroused him to a point where he was getting dizzy, the thought of doing something overtly sexual with a bloke still weirded him out.

He didn’t have much time to reflect on how sex between two men worked, though. Erik moved closer, their bodies aligned while Erik moved a leg across Charles’s thigh, pressing it between his legs. Erik had been hard before, and it was mildly disconcerting to feel his hard cock pressed against him right to the groove of his pelvis. What was even more unsettling as well as exhilarating was Charles’s own erection right there against Erik’s warm thigh. God, it felt weird to spread his legs for someone else that way, but Erik only smiled against his mouth as he rocked against him -- just once, testing the feel of it.

“Oh,” Charles sighed as Erik withdrew from the kiss so he could tend to Charles’s jaw and neck. “Do that again.”

“What? This?” Erik shifted again, the friction deliciously electrifying.

Charles held on to Erik’s hips, pressed up against him. “I feel like some dirty teenage boy,” he huffed and he could feel Erik’s breath against his throat when he let out a quiet laugh. And then he began to kiss him, started to gently suck at the tender skin and Charles felt embarrassment washing over him at the sound he made. His hands started to wander and explore Erik’s back, smoothing and caressing up and down, hand slipping underneath his shirt so he could feel the skin and Erik’s muscles shift under his touch. And when Erik started to roll his hips in slow, lazy fashion, Charles couldn’t help but grab his arse, giving the firm cheeks a squeeze.

“Ugh, Gott,” Erik groaned against his throat, giving it a nip to let Charles know how much he liked it.

“You’re going to leave a mark there if you continue like this,” Charles sighed. He had begun to move back against Erik, rubbing himself slowly against his warm thigh. It was astounding how well attuned they both were.

Erik made no verbal reply, but his arms snaked around and under Charles, surrounding him utterly, lifting him until their bodies were pressed flush together. Charles felt himself shiver, and knew that only part of it was due to the physical sensations of Erik's hot mouth on his neck, the firm line of his cock rubbing against Charles's, now. The friction felt good, but more than that -- being held like this felt good; being pressed possessively up against Erik's bigger, stronger body. Charles clutched at Erik's shoulderblades like a man drowning, and his head fell back as Erik mouthed up the curve of his throat, finding all the places that made Charles cry out and buck his hips and writhe.

"Gott, Charles --" Erik was breathing hard, now; Charles was dimly aware of Erik's firm hands on his hips, spreading his thighs, but by this point he could think of nothing beyond the electric touch of Erik's mouth in the soft place behind his ear, the flicker of his tongue against Charles's earlobe. Above him, Erik was shifting, clutching at Charles's waist, gripping his arse, but it wasn't until Erik rocked down hard enough to make Charles cry out that Charles quite realised how they'd been repositioned.

"Is this okay?" Erik whispered.

Charles blinked slowly. He felt hazy, disconnected from himself; the mark Erik had left on his throat was like a pleasant burn. Erik was on top of him, he processed slowly, between Charles's splayed legs, and the thick ridge of his cock was flush against Charles's. Erik's eyes were steady and dark on Charles's, even as he thrust forward slowly, and it was so good like this, the direct pressure, that Charles hissed through his teeth and arched into it without any conscious thought.

"Put your legs around my waist," Erik whispered, as if they were in church; as if he were reluctant to break the sanctity of the moment. "Let me fuck you like this, just like this."

"Oh, Jesus, Erik --" Arousal pummelled Charles like a sudden wave, just the sound of those words in Erik's mouth, terrifying and exhilarating and hotter than anything Charles had ever done. It was easy, then, to curl his legs around Erik's waist, ankles locked at the small of his back; easy to lock Erik down against him like that, catch Erik's mouth when Erik began to rut against him, practised, fluid motions. God, how could this be so good? They were just grinding like adolescents, rubbing through their clothes, but stopping to undress was no longer an option, not with Erik gasping against Charles's mouth, biting at his lips as he thrust against him. Between their bellies, Charles could feel the sticky dampness of their precome where it had leaked through the thin pyjama fabric, and Erik's breath had taken on a ragged quality, now, low curses in German that made Charles rut up harder, fisting his hands in the back of Erik's t-shirt.

"Gott, Charles, Charles --" The end of the sentence got lost somewhere in a low moan that almost had Charles coming then and there. They were moving faster, now, Erik's hips snapping fiercely against Charles's; somewhere along the way the furious motions had dragged the too-small pyjamas down over the straining head of Erik's cock and _Jesus_ Charles could feel it against his stomach, its blood-hot leaking tip and Erik's wrecked panting in his ear, Erik's narrow hips slotted so perfectly between Charles's thighs --

"Fuck!" The word was a strangled shout, Charles hips jackknifing up against Erik's as he started to come, fingernails digging into Erik's back as it pulsed out of him, his whole body spasming. Above him, Erik half-sobbed his name, and Charles felt himself gathered up firmly in Erik's arms as Erik gave himself over to climax, rubbing himself against Charles erratic and furious until, with a wrecked cry, he spilled between them, hot and sticky-slick and copious.

"Gott," Erik was panting, and then, abruptly switching to English, "Fuckin' hell."

Charles burst out laughing. Serotonin was coursing through his bloodstream; orgasms always made him a little giddy, and for some reason, that had pushed him over the edge. It certainly served to break the awkward post-coital ice; Erik lifted his head and mock-frowned, which only made Charles giggle more, his hands carding through Erik's hair.

"Not laughing at you," he managed to get out, "just -- God, that was stupid good, come here, come here.."

He tugged; Erik crawled up the bed obligingly and proceeded to press little kisses all over Charles's face, which didn't help in stopping the gigglefit. "Next time," Erik said between kisses, "we might even manage to get our clothes off."

Charles looked up at him, feeling achingly, overwhelmingly fond. "Dream big," he said.

“What else do you think I’ve been doing for the past three weeks, Charles?” It was said with so much innocence in Erik’s voice but Charles didn’t miss the mischievous tone in it, and it was enough to make him feel hot all over again.

“Maybe you'd care to tell me another time?” he asked, running a finger along Erik’s fine cheekbone. Erik hummed, leaning into the touch.

“Why wait?”

Oh, Charles could tell this was going to be a wonderful day.

*

It was only half past 12 PM when they finally rolled out of bed, and while Charles could have technically attended his lecture in the afternoon without any problems, Erik easily convinced him otherwise. They spent the day as they usually would have...before...except that they touched more now, shared kisses or accidentally made out against the refrigerator in Charles’s tiny kitchen when all Charles had wanted was to get the milk.

In short, it was perfection.

Every once in a while, the question of _What Would Raven Say?_ was raising its ugly head at the back of Charles’s mind but he avoided and ignored it as best as he could. Yes, it might have been a little selfish of him, stealing his best friend’s boyfriend but it wasn’t as if he had done it intentionally. He and Erik were different. He and Erik just... clicked. They belonged together -- a truth emphasised by the fact that neither of them was gay or had had homosexual encounters in the past. For some reason, they were just drawn to each other and it _worked_.

As much as they would have loved to, Erik couldn’t stay over at Charles’s for as long as he liked, and when it was finally time for him to go back home in order to finish at least _some_ of his homework, both were reluctant to let go.

Under different circumstances, if it had been another couple ( _couple_ \-- Charles grinned stupidly at that word when it concerned him and Erik), he would have probably felt sick if he had been forced to witness them saying good bye to each other with kisses and embraces and whispered vows of love. Now, however, it was him and Erik who put on an extra soppy show and Charles indulged in it without the slightest hint of shame. When Erik was gone, he waited twenty minutes until he allowed himself to grab his phone and text him, asking if he had arrived home safely.

 _Can’t get enough of me, can you?_ Erik texted back.

Charles recorded his answer, feeling giddy all over again. “Chhhh never, my friend.”

*

That sentiment turned out to be more true than Charles could have imagined. There was an unspoken agreement between them that they had to keep this to themselves for now. Charles had already been cornered by a disconsolate Raven, who'd caught him in the corridor and dragged him into her room for tea and sympathy.

"I don't know what happened," she said, running one finger idly round and round the rim of her teacup. "I mean, we got on well, the sex was good…"

Charles cleared his throat. This really was an incredibly awkward situation to be in. "Well," he said, treading very carefully, "maybe he just didn't think the two of you were a long-term match, you know? He's older than us...he probably has different goals. And I don't think you're looking for a serious relationship right now, are you?"

"That's true," Raven mused, staring into her tea. "I mean, he's such a gentleman. I guess that's the kind of thing he would do." She sighed. "But he was just _so hot_ , you know?"

Charles had to laugh at that. "There are plenty of hot guys out there, you'll see. And you're a stunner, you never have a problem catching them."

"I could have my pick of anyone but you, right?" Raven teased, and Charles grinned at her, let her push her foot playfully against his.

"Damn right."

Erik, for all his virtues, was replaceable as far as Raven was concerned, and that made Charles feel a little better about how much time he spent either daydreaming about him or cuddled up in Erik's bed. For Charles, Erik was _it_. Erik kissed like nobody else had ever kissed him, Erik's hands were an artist's dream, Erik's shoulders, Erik's mouth, Erik's hips. Even -- and Charles still hesitated to admit it -- Erik's cock.

Christ, Erik's cock. Charles never thought he'd feel so compelled by the thought of another man's...appendage...but from the first time he and Erik had managed to get properly naked together, he kept going back to it, his fingertips brushing the spine of it, fingers curling around it in awed reverence. Erik was so _big_ , jutting out from those narrow little hips, and the thought that it was all for Charles made Charles's throat clog up, saliva rushing under his tongue. Erik naked smelled of sex and clean sweat, the musk of his arousal intoxicating, and while they hadn't dared venture yet beyond frantic handjobs, Charles had no doubt any more that he could. That they _would_. Erik wet and ready for him was a fantasy for the ages, and one of these days, Charles would be brave enough to take him in his mouth.

For now, though, he was quite content with what they had. The way Erik smiled when Charles arrived at his door was a thrill in itself. Erik kissed him every time as if they'd been separated for years, and when they stumbled across to Erik's bed, Charles always took a certain guilty pleasure in letting himself be manhandled, laid out on the mattress for Erik to do with as he would.

The weeks flew by, Christmas came closer and everything would have been just _so fucking perfect_ if it hadn’t been for Charles’s familial obligations. He knew he couldn’t put off this affair forever, so he made a resolution to work on it over his Christmas holidays. Which was easier said than done, really, because Erik had asked him to come home with him -- to Germany -- and spend Christmas and New Year’s Eve with him.

“Does your father know that we’re boyfriends?” he asked Erik over the rim of his reading glasses, not quite believing that Erik had fessed up to his parents. He was sitting at his desk, just brushing up his last essay for the term while Erik sat on the floor next to him, flicking through some of his Biology books and looking at the pictures.

“Charles, whenever you look at me like this, I feel like I’m not talking to my lover but some old tweedy professor. Next time I fuck something up, I fear you’re going to spank me,” Erik huffed with a small frown.

“Fuck off, love,” he laughed as he stretched his leg to nudge Erik’s knee with his foot. “But seriously. Have you told him or are you just chancing your luck that he won’t either suspect anything or blow up at us?”

“Well.”

Charles knew why Erik was suddenly distracted by the lint on his socks, and so he let out a small sigh. “So -- let me get this right. You want me to come with you --”

“Yeah.”

“To spend the holidays with you --”

“Mh-hm.”

“But you haven’t told your father _or_ your stepmother that we’re together.”

“I suppose you could say that,” Erik mumbled, almost unintelligibly.

“They don’t know that you, in fact, are in a relationship with a man now and, probably, we won’t be able to act naturally around them?”

“Charles --”

“Which means sneaking around, stealing kisses, and not to forget about the quiet, restrained but nonetheless _incredibly_ arousing sex in your childhood bed?”

“Er…”

“Okay.” Charles shrugged, then hitched up his glasses back into place before he turned back to his essay. “Book the tickets and tell me what they cost. My treat.”


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Right, so this is a Christmas chapter in October and we're actually not really sorry about that because it's such a wonderful holiday.
> 
> Other than that, enjoy. ♥

In the end, Charles decided to put off his family worries until after New Year’s Eve. That would still leave him plenty of time to rummage through his mother’s belongings for a hint and spoil his good mood. Until then, he wanted to make the best of his holidays and be with Erik. Whether or not Erik would join him at his own home afterwards was an entirely different question.

Charles had never been to Germany before and so he was quite excited when they finally checked in for their flight to Düsseldorf at Heathrow. His German was a little rusty; he only remembered bits and pieces he had learned when he had been homeschooled as a child, but at least Erik was always by his side, eager to help and to teach him.

As it turned out, Erik’s parents were quite eager to meet Charles. He wasn’t sure what exactly Erik had told them about him but he found it didn’t really matter, not when Erik’s parents -- Jakob and Edie -- were so warm and friendly as they greeted him, making him feel as welcome as if he were a son of their own.

"Erik says you made him very welcome when he first arrived in Oxford," Edie said, her hand on Charles's shoulder as they walked towards the car. Like most Germans, she spoke impeccable English, making Charles feel rather ashamed of his rusty German. 

"Well, I bumped into him in the library," he said, "and he looked so pathetic…" 

Jakob and Edie both laughed at that. 

"Yes, he does that," Jakob said, clapping Erik firmly between the shoulderblades. "He usually needs someone to look after him; isn't that right, Erik?" 

Erik was pink across the tops of his cheekbones, and Charles couldn't help grinning at him, smirking to himself when Erik stuck out his tongue in retort. 

"Don't tease him, Jakob." Edie flicked a hand at Jakob's forearm, and opened the car door. "Here we are. Get in the back, and _I'm_ driving, Jakob. You're in a strange mood, I don't trust you." 

All the way back to the house, Charles was heavily conscious of the minuscule distance between his hand and Erik's on the seat between them. Up front, Edie and Jakob bickered good-naturedly in German about the radio channels, occasionally making remarks to Erik in the backseat, but Charles didn't quite know how to feel. On the one hand, this felt like such a warm, lovely family that he couldn't help but be at his ease among them; but on the other...part of him dreaded the idea of shattering this idyll if Jakob should happen to find out that Charles was the focus of Erik's romantic attentions. Somehow, he thought Edie wouldn't mind, but then, Edie wasn't Erik's mother. Charles supposed he'd care a whole lot more about Jakob's views on the subject. 

The Lehnsherrs' home, when they reached it, was spacious, comfortable, not excessive, but generously middle-class. Erik shot Charles a nervous glance as they walked into the hallway, and Charles laughed softly, meeting his eyes. 

"Don't worry," he said, "I know most people don't live in a draughty old mansion. Trust me, I like it better this way." 

"Well," Erik said, glancing up and down the corridor before he took and squeezed Charles's hand, "as long as you don't mind. You'll be sharing a room with me, due to, uh. Limited space." 

"Oh no," Charles murmured, leaning in close to Erik's mouth, "how on earth will I cope?" 

The moment was shattered by Edie, coming around the corner with a dishcloth in her hand. "Dinner!" she declared, smiling warmly at them both. "Erik, tell me at once all the things you've missed and I'll see how many of them I can cram into one meal." 

Erik laughed. "Welcome to Germany, Charles," he said. Just before Charles was about to turn around and follow Edie into the living room, he was held back by Erik holding his wrist and pulling him in for a quick kiss. “Off you go, she doesn’t like waiting,” he said afterwards, giving Charles’s bum a clap. It was difficult not to grin like a fool during dinner.

*

Christmas in Germany, Charles had come to notice, was not all too different from England but still significantly distinctive in its own way. Of course he knew that the festivities as they were celebrated nowadays originated in 19th century Germany but he hadn’t expected that Germans were _still_ so crazy about those holidays. Wherever they went as Erik showed him around, there seemed to be Christmas markets at every corner, the smell of mulled wine and Bratwurst mingling with roasted almonds, baked apples and the distinct aroma of cinnamon all around. Since the Christmas markets seemed to be full at every hour of the day, Charles quietly wondered if people in Germany were working during Christmas time at all. Even Erik couldn’t give him a satisfying answer to that.

Nevertheless, Charles enjoyed strolling through those markets as he marvelled at the handcrafted Christmas decorations and incense smokers. For a moment he wondered if he should perhaps buy one for Erik’s parents as a gift but Erik only made a disgruntled sound at that.

“Mum has got about fourteen of these tiny bastards. Our house smells like a freaking church during Christmas time, so don’t even think about it."

Oh well, he could still get one for himself.

On the day of the 24th of December, the entire house seemed to buzz with a new sort of energy. While Edie was busy in the kitchen, preparing their dinner, Jakob and Erik put up the tree.

“Aren’t you Jewish?” Charles asked once Jakob had left them alone to decorate the tree.

“Mum is but she isn’t religious in the slightest,” Erik said, opening yet another box filled to the brink with Christmas ornaments. “She loves to celebrate Christmas with us almost more than we do. She gets all giddy and runs around like a child all day long until it’s evening and she collapses.” Erik smiled fondly. “It’s rather adorable.”

“Oh, I see. I just thought… You know, because of the name…”

“Nah,” Erik waved a hand. “When they got married, he took her last name, and so did I when she adopted me. Simple as that. Besides, lots of German families have Jewish sounding names while actually being Christians. Or nothing at all. Will you please hand me that green box?”

And so the day proceeded without further interruptions. There was one moment of panic when one of the branches of the Christmas tree seemed to have caught fire but it apparently hadn’t happened for the first time since Edie quickly put it out with an old rag. After that, they had dinner and Charles would have gone straight to Erik’s room when they were finished, if it hadn’t been for the fact that they were going to do the gift giving right after dinner and not the next morning.

“You Germans and your strange traditions,” he remarked dryly, earning a quick playful pinch on his inner thigh from Erik when his parents weren’t looking.

“You’ll get your present later on when we’re back in my room, okay?” Erik whispered, making Charles shiver with the way his lips lightly brushed his ear.

"That sounds promising," Charles whispered back. Erik grinned. 

"Wait and see, impatient." 

To Charles, the whole evening was surreal. Not the fact that it was Christmas Eve instead of Christmas Day; that was incidental. What made it so delightfully strange was the way the whole family was engaged in the proceedings, everybody huddled up together around the tree, the candles flickering gently in the breeze coming under the door. The gift-giving was a little ceremony of its own, the names on the cards read out before the gifts were passed to the beneficiaries; the unwrapping was then its own little spectacle. On the windowsill, Charles noticed, stood a menorah, Edie's own traditions incorporated into Jakob's in a big mixed-up melange of festive cheer. 

Charles couldn't even remember having a happy Christmas with his mother. Christmas, to Sharon, had just been an excuse to drink even more than usual and pass out immediately after dinner. Whereas, here, in this house...Charles couldn't help but feel a pang of jealousy that Edie, who wasn't even a blood relation of Erik's, was so much warmer than his own mother had ever been. Hell, Charles hadn't known her two days, and already she was giving him gifts with a sincerity Charles couldn't have doubted, hugging him to her bosom like a son. 

That thought sent a prickle across Charles's shoulderblades, wondering how she'd feel if she knew how un-brotherly his feelings for Erik really were. But he didn't have time to dwell on his anxiety. After the gifts, came singing -- Jakob was something of a virtuoso on the accordion, and Erik blushed when his father presented him with the instrument to play what Jakob termed 'his speciality'. 

"I didn't know you could play," Charles said, grinning widely at the spectacle. 

"You tell anyone, and you're dead," Erik said. But he struck up the first chords all the same, and Charles couldn't help but pulse with fondness at the look on Erik's face as he sang, the candlelight glowing on his cheekbones. 

When, at last, it was time for bed, Charles and Erik retired with glasses of mulled wine and a packet of chocolate each, courtesy of Edie -- "I _know_ you boys aren't really going to sleep already. You're just tired of us old folks." 

"D'you think she's onto us?" Charles muttered, as Erik tugged him into his bedroom by the hand. 

"Nah," Erik said, flopping onto his back on the bed. "Even if she was, she wouldn't care -- and she wouldn't tell Dad. But I don't think it would have occurred to her." 

"What -- that we wanted to escape so we could do this?" Charles curled himself into the space between Erik's chest and shoulder, and leaned up to press a kiss to his mouth. Erik tasted like wine, like Christmas spices and a hint of orange, and he kissed back enthusiastically for a long moment before he pulled away. 

"Yes," Erik said, laughing, "exactly that." 

They kissed, then, long and leisurely. Outside, Charles could still dimly hear the sound of Christmas songs playing on Jakob's old record player, but Erik's mouth on his throat, drifting down to his chest, soon wiped his mind of all awareness. Soon enough, they were naked under Erik's quilt, rutting in the dark, and a thrill shot through Charles at the thought of little Erik, all innocence, curled up in this very bed. And now he was debauching Charles in it, his cock rubbing sticky-slick against Charles's and his mouth on the curve of Charles's throat. The thought made Charles throw his head back, lift his hips, and Erik moaned, worked him harder. God, why had he ever doubted that this could be perfect? 

In the morning, Charles woke slowly to the smell of gingerbread. Drowsily, he lifted his head, found Erik watching him wryly. 

"Mum's on her Christmas baking spree, I see," he said. Charles laughed. 

"So long as we get to profit from it, I'm delighted to hear it."

Erik flopped down next to him, pillowing his head on his arms. “Mum and Dad are going to go out later on, visiting the family and stuff. They didn’t ask me to come along with them, which I’m quite grateful for.”

“Is this how you usually spend your Christmases, then?” Charles asked as he ran an idle finger along Erik’s chest.

“Yeah, family visits on all three days. It’s exhausting.” Erik grimaced. “Another reason why I’m so glad you’re here. You’re saving me from all this.”

Charles hummed softly, seemingly lost as he continued to draw invisible lines across Erik’s smooth skin. “I’ve never had this, so I don’t really know what it’s like.” His expression turned briefly wistful, a pained smile flickering across his features before he caught himself and dragged himself out of his reverie. “If anyone has to do the thanking here, it should be me. I really like your parents.”

“And they like you,” Erik replied, covering Charles’s hand with this. “I’m afraid they’re going to adopt you if you keep charming your way into their hearts like this.”

“I do _not_ do that!”

“Come on.”

“Well,” Charles hid his smile in the crook of Erik’s neck. “It worked on you, so that should be enough for now.”

*

It was early evening when Jakob and Edie finally returned. Charles and Erik had made good use of their time, finally able to be as vocal as they pleased, but by the time Erik’s parents came back, they were ravenous as starving animals. Thankfully, Edie had been thoughtful enough to bring some left-overs from the family gathering home with her so the boys could at least have something to eat.

They were all gathered in the living room, watching something on TV which Charles hardly understood, but he had delicious food and he liked listening to the Lehnsherrs speaking German. Something about the sound of it was oddly soothing to his ears. Charles was lost in his thoughts, stuffing a dumpling into his mouth with gusto, when Jakob asked him, “Excuse me for asking this, Charles, but how come you're spending Christmas with us and not your parents? Not that I'm not okay with it -- I’m glad Erik’s got a friend here, but…it’s a bit strange, isn’t it?”

Well. That was certainly something he really didn't want to talk about. He shot Erik a wary look and got an apologetic smile in return. _I’m sorry, I forgot to tell them what happened to you_ was something Charles could read in his expression even without being a mind-reader. He exhaled slowly, taking his time as he contemplated what to say.

“That’s because I don’t have any parents left, I’m afraid. Erik was kind enough to invite me along so I wouldn’t have to sit alone at home and wallow in self-pity.” He tried to soften his words with a smile but instead, he just grimaced.

Jakob’s face had gone pale and as he looked at his wife, Charles was acutely aware that he'd manage to embarrass the man rather severely. 

“I’m sorry, honestly, I didn’t want to make you feel uncomfortable!” he apologised quickly. “It’s fine, really. Besides, I don’t think that if my mother was still alive, we’d be having the same kind of Christmas we're having right now. So. I’m actually really glad you allowed Erik to bring me along.”

“Oh, Schätzchen,” Edie said, immediately getting up from the couch she and Jakob were seated on, and walking over to Charles, embracing him tightly. “You poor, poor boy. I’m so glad Erik brought you along. Feel free to visit us whenever you like, okay?”

“Okay,” Charles said, not really knowing where to put his hands or where to look since Edie had his face pressed against her chest while she was stroking his hair. When he shot Erik a side-glance, he became aware that Erik was watching them intently with an affectionate look on his face. As far as Erik was concerned, clearly, this was the way things should be. Charles closed his eyes, and allowed himself to breathe in the motherly smell of Edie's clothes. Perhaps, just for the time being, he could have this. Just for once, he could bask in the warmth of this family Christmas and imagine how it might have been to have a father who was there while he was growing up, a mother who cared. 

Later that night, Charles lay curled up on Erik's chest, toying idly with one of his nipples. Erik, for the most part, was letting him, except when Charles happened to tug at a stray hair or scrape with a fingernail. Then he'd get a hiss and a soft curse from Erik, which only made him giggle. 

At length, Charles said, "You call her Mum." 

Erik laughed softly. "Well, I call her Mama. But yeah, I do, of course I do. She's my mum." He shrugged, tightening his arm a little around Charles's shoulders to pull him closer. "I can't even remember my 'real' mother, whatever that means. She's never once wanted to see me in twenty-some years. That's not family." Gently, he kissed the top of Charles's head. "Family is what you make of it." 

The winter vacation in Germany felt like a fairytale idyll to Charles. Erik's little family was everything Charles had ever wanted and never had, and by the time he'd spent three weeks in their company, he wished with all his heart that Jakob and Edie could be his parents, too. A traitorous little part of him, skipping wildly ahead of reality, said, _if you married Erik...._

Charles brushed this part violently away. There was no call to spoil something wonderful with forlorn hopes. He and Erik had spent much of the holidays curled together in Erik's bed, and that had been lovely enough. There hadn't really been much opportunity to move beyond bringing each other off in the dark, hands between their naked thighs, mouths on each other's throats. But all these weeks had made Charles familiar with that, so Erik's hands gently undressing him no longer came as a surprise, Erik's mouth on his was expected. Here, away from all their responsibilities, they could kiss and touch each other without fear of repercussions, without thinking about how it would be when they got back to Oxford and this whole thing had to become a different kind of secret. 

God. Charles didn't want Erik to be a dirty little secret, but just the thought of what Raven would say made his stomach shrivel up in discomfort. He hadn't done anything _wrong_ , not exactly. Hell, for all he knew, Raven could have moved on already. It wasn't as if she and Erik had been serious, after all. But still, he didn't doubt that Raven would be more than a little hurt to discover her best friend and former boyfriend engaged in a secret gay affair. Even Charles was still disconcerted by the whole thing when he phrased it like that. He and Erik...they'd have to keep it on the downlow for as long as they could, at least until Raven had definitely moved on and had another boy in her sights. Charles loved Erik more than he'd ever expected to love anybody, but he loved Raven too, in her own way. He had no intention of choosing between them. 

The only thing that gave him some small comfort was that he could put off the eventual confrontation with Raven for at least another week. Until then, he and Erik would go back to Charles’s home where they both would try to dig into Sharon’s documents in hope to find an answer as to who the mysterious brother was.


	11. Chapter 11

With much reluctance, Erik’s parents let them go back to England and Charles even had to admit to himself that he would miss them. The journey to his own home, however, was more than enough to distract them, turning stressful once they heard the news that their luggage had got lost on the way and would arrive one or two days later. All things considered, with that much mess and annoyance, Charles wasn’t granted much time to dwell over not having a loving family like Erik had.

“Have you got any clothes left here?” Erik asked as he slumped down on Charles’s bed. This time, there would be no separate rooms -- a thought that sent a thrill down Charles’s spine.

“Well, I’ve got some dressing gowns and childhood clothes… Unless you fancy walking around in my dead mother’s skirts and blouses. In that case, feel free to try on her dresses.”

Erik scrunched up his nose at that suggestion. “I think I’ll pass.”

“Too bad, you’d never have looked more beautiful, darling.”

Erik flipped him off for that comment and Charles laughed.

After they had settled down with what little belongings they had brought with them, they called it a day and went straight to bed after some meagre meal that hadn’t even remotely resembled a dinner. Both were content, though, once they lay down, Charles letting himself be dragged down onto the mattress into Erik’s embrace. Erik had set up his laptop so they could watch a film, but after a while, he seemed to get distinctly bored.

“Something wrong?” Charles asked, cuddling shamelessly into the curve of Erik’s body with one of his legs thrown across Erik’s thighs.

“I just --” Erik furrowed his brows as he tried to articulate his thought. “I just wondered if...if perhaps you’d like to learn a bit?”

“Learn what?”

“Gay sex.”

Charles almost choked on his own breath. Erik sat up, smacking him firmly on the back, and Charles waved a hand, trying to convey without words that he was okay. 

"Sorry, I didn't mean to actually kill you," Erik said, the corner of his mouth curling up wryly. 

"No, it's just…" Charles laughed. "You said that as if you wanted us to learn origami, or pilates or something. I mean...is the sex we've been having not gay sex? Those orgasms felt pretty real to me." 

They both laughed at that, and Erik pulled Charles closer, tucking his hair back behind his ear. "Of course, it's great with you. Better than anything. But that just makes me think, if we were a little more adventurous...how _amazing_ it would be, you know?" Erik bit his lip, leaned in. "I want to be inside you, Charles, if you'd let me. I've dreamed about it...kissing you, making love to you. I'd be gentle...maybe you'd let me fuck you with my fingers first?" 

"Oh, God." Charles had never really contemplated this kind of thing, although he knew many straight men were into it, turning over eagerly for their girlfriends just for the spark of being lit up from the inside like that. Charles had always been rather more vanilla than that, but God, Erik's voice in his ear, the hot urgency in it that spoke of just how much Erik wanted this...Charles would have to have been dead not to have been turned on by that. Especially when Erik's hands began to wander down the length of Charles's spine, pausing to grip and squeeze at his waist and the upper curve of his arse before they slipped into his pyjamas, Erik's broad palms splaying across Charles's buttocks. 

"Not if you don't want to," Erik murmured, "and if you prefer, we can do it the other way, but...it's supposed to be amazing, Charles." Erik squeezed, the tips of his fingers slipping into Charles's cleft, and Charles shivered against him. "We could...watch some videos?" 

"Videos?" Charles summoned the coherence to laugh. "Erik, I'm not a betting man, but I think gay porn is probably about as similar to gay sex as straight porn is to straight sex. Which is to say: not at all." 

Erik shrugged, pressed a kiss to Charles's temple. "Information websites, then. I don't want to hurt you, Charles, but they say if you do it right…" His fingers drifted downward, brushing across the furled clutch of Charles's arsehole -- "it can be mindblowing." 

"Mmmph." Charles bit back a shiver, rubbing his face against the smooth bony curve of Erik's shoulder. He didn't want to think about this too intently, didn't want to plumb into his insecurities, because over and above all that, the instincts of his body were _yes yes yes oh god_. He didn't know what it said about him as a man that the thought of Erik overpowering him like that -- pinning him to the bed, penetrating him -- made him sweat with hot anticipation, but it was a fact, and there was nothing Charles could do about it. Better just to nuzzle close to Erik, let his voice spark the flames in Charles at the thought of being fused with him like that, being filled to the brim with Erik. 

“You know,” he eventually rasped out, "I've been thinking about doing something else." 

Erik's hand, which had never ceased its wandering over Charles's body, was now lightly cupping Charles's crotch, thumbing slowly at the bulge of his dick. “Really.” Erik sounded pleased. Curious. “Tell me.”

“I -- Ah.” He hissed as Erik gave his half-hard cock a friendly squeeze. “I’ve been thinking about... about sucking you off.”

Well, that confession certainly seemed to take Erik by surprise, seeing as how the movements of his hand momentarily faltered. “When?” His voice had changed from silky to husky within a split second and Charles took great delight in seeing the other man’s obvious positive reaction to it.

“How about now?”

“Do you want to watch gay porn first, see how it works?”

“Oh shut up, Erik,” Charles laughed. “It’s not as if I'd never had a blowjob before I met you. I’ll figure out what to do.”

"I bet you will," Erik said, but his eyes had gone dark and his tone was sultry. Charles could feel himself hardening just at the sight of Erik's face, how excited he clearly was by the prospect. Tentatively, Charles licked at his lips, and Erik groaned. 

"Fuck, Charles, your _mouth_. Girls would kill for a mouth like that." 

Charles laughed softly. "I'm not sure if that's a compliment or not." Carefully, he was manipulating Erik onto his back on the bed, putting him where he wanted him. If he was going to do this -- and God, how he wanted to -- it was going to be to his own specifications. He spread Erik's thighs carefully with his hands, let his thumbs brush the swell of Erik's dick in his boxers. Erik hissed softly, his toes curling. 

"Oh," he said thickly, "it's _definitely_ a compliment." 

Charles smiled his approval, but his eyes were downturned, focussed on Erik's shorts. Fascinating, how the slightest touch of Charles's thumb made Erik harden visibly, the fat bulge of his cock steadily growing like a flower yearning for the sun. Charles laughed at his own imagery, and leaned down, curious, to press his cheek to the place where Erik's cock thrust up against the fabric of his boxers. 

"Oh, Gott --" Erik's hand came down on the back of Charles's head, and Charles groaned softly, nuzzled at the pulsing heat against his cheek. He could feel Erik's heartbeat here, the rush of his blood; smell the raw scent of his want, and Charles's own cheeks were cramping, saliva pooling under his tongue. Erik was so big, he doubted he could get much more than the head into his mouth at once, but God, he would try; he wanted so desperately to try. 

His fingers were trembling when he hooked them under Erik's waistband, and Erik's help was much appreciated in dragging the boxers down and off, kicked somewhere into the messy corner of the room. And then -- and then there was Erik, bare and hard, the uncovered crown of him slick with want. Charles still couldn't get used to the idea of touching another man's cock, the sensitive place below the head that made Erik shiver when Charles's thumb brushed over it, the smoothness of his crown when arousal pulled the foreskin back. Biting his lip, Charles leaned in, nuzzled at Erik's shaft, and Erik's breath hitched, fingers spasming in Charles's hair. 

"Ssshhh," Charles murmured, relishing the way Erik shivered at the exhalation. This was...intimidating, yes, but the smell of Erik like this, the sight of his precome welling from his exposed slit -- Charles swallowed hard, leaned in before he could question himself. Tongued at the head, and closed his lips around it when Erik cried out, hips straining with the effort of staying flat on the bed, rather than fucking Charles's mouth. Erik exhaled sharply through his nostrils, and Charles looked up, as if to check he was okay. What he saw was a sight to behold, Erik’s flushed face, his eyes widened in wonder as though he couldn’t really believe what Charles was doing here. If Charles hadn't had his lips wrapped around the tip of Erik’s cock, he would have flashed him a smug smile. Only that now, he couldn’t really stop -- didn’t even want to.

It was a strange thing to do, but not nearly as unpleasant as Charles had initially imagined it. It also helped that Erik was trying his best not to thrust up into the wet heat of Charles’s mouth, that he held his hips still as best as he could while his hand continued to stroke Charles’s hair, soothing him. By the time Charles had worked up the nerve to try and get more of Erik into his mouth, Erik had been rendered into an incoherent mess. His curses switched from German to English, back and forth, back and forth, and Charles particularly enjoyed the way he even _begged_ him to do _something_ when he planted tiny kisses and flicks of his tongue along the shaft of Erik’s cock. If he had known that he would get off so much on hearing Erik whimper, even, Charles would have done this much earlier.

Just before Erik came, he somehow managed to warn Charles, his fingers fluttering urgently against Charles's scalp. Charles pulled off, still a little unsure about the idea of having Erik come in his mouth the first time, and stroked him through his orgasm. With a shivery sigh, Erik rode out the last few waves of his climax. Charles nuzzled him at the groove of his pelvis, kissing his softening cock lightly as Erik combed his long, elegant fingers through Charles’s hair.

“Do you even know how much I’m in love with you?” Erik sighed with a lazy smile, which Charles returned as he moved up Erik’s body, kissing the corner of his mouth.

“I should hope it’s a fuckload of love? Because I’m not sucking anyone’s cock just like that.”

Erik laughed softly. "A fuckload of love...yeah, that sounds about right." He cupped the back of Charles's head, pulled him in, and kissed him slow and languorous, his tongue tracing the shapes of Charles's teeth, the ridges of his soft palate. Dimly, Charles was aware that he probably tasted of Erik, that Erik was licking the taste of himself out of Charles's mouth, and the thought made him groan, clutching at Erik's shoulders as Erik sucked on his tongue, a slow wet slide from root to tip. 

"What do you want?" Erik whispered, his breath hot on Charles's mouth. His hands were wandering deftly down Charles's body, pausing to thumb at his nipples, scrape at the sensitive places on the sides of his ribs, and Charles was too turned-on to articulate words, could only arch and shudder and lift his hips, hoping Erik would get the message. Soon, maybe, Erik would return the favour, suck him off -- and God, that thought made him shudder with heat -- but for now, he was close enough that even the touch of Erik's hand -- fuck -- the tunnel of Erik's fist closing around him was enough; he was so close, so close, slick with his own want and when Erik started to stroke him, it seemed to crest up inside him more violently than he could handle, Jesus God -- 

"Erik!" Climax hit him hard and without warning, and he clung to Erik's shoulders, biting his lip as he pulsed over Erik's fist. They were both of them sticky with come and sweat and spit, and it should have been vile, but something about the filthiness of it made Charles warm from the inside out, the thought of mingling with Erik like this...their base human essences combined. When he could breathe again, he settled himself on Erik's chest, and Erik petted him reflexively. 

"Well," he said, "shall we call that Lesson One?" 

"Fuck off," Charles muttered, poking Erik in the ribs, but he couldn't help but grin up at him, not when Erik was smiling like that, debauched and sex-flushed and giddy from his orgasm. God, Charles was so gone. He was _so_ gone for Erik. He could only thank his lucky stars that Erik returned the sentiment. 

*

It was a great relief when their luggage finally arrived at Charles’s home, and the first thing Erik did was to unpack his suitcase and take out all his books that were relevant for his studies. Charles eyed him, confused.

“What do you want with them? We won’t be going back for another week,” he said into his tea cup, taking another sip from it while he watched Erik preparing the coffee table in the living room as A Work Space.

“I know, but I received an email from bloody Shaw yesterday that he wants us to prepare for the next course.” He didn’t look too happy about that and Charles, too, made a face.

“Does that mean I have to snoop around my mother’s documents all by myself?”

“I’m afraid so, darling.”

“You’re not even remotely sorry about that, Lehnsherr. I get it.”

Erik’s sheepish smile in reply was answer enough.

“You’re unbelievable.” Charles sighed, emptied his cup and then left the room, passing Erik on his way to give his shoulder an affectionate squeeze.

 _Saying_ that he’d look through his mother’s belongings was one thing -- actually _doing_ it was an entirely different matter. Frustration welled up all too quickly, and after an hour, Charles gave up. He'd had enough for the day. As he got up and went back to the living room to see what Erik was doing, he noticed that Erik was staring at his laptop screen in concentration, earbuds in his ears so he wouldn’t annoy Charles with whatever music he was listening to.

Charles shook his head with a smile and decided to retreat back into his room where his own laptop was. He didn’t want to interrupt Erik while he was busy working and so he decided to waste some time on the internet until Erik called it a day.

There was nothing interesting on Facebook, Twitter, not even on 9gag. Even the world wide web was being miserable. Idly, Charles loaded up Tumblr. He didn't make much use of his Tumblr account, especially not since he'd started at Oxford and had a lot more to occupy his time. But the great joy of Tumblr was that one could often find the most interesting things in the tags, without ending up with any bizarre spam adverts or strange things in the browser history. Glancing over his shoulder to make sure Erik was fully occupied in the other room, Charles opened up the search page and nervously typed 'gay'. 

Possibly he should have added something more to the search term, like, for example, 'porn'. Not that he was trying to get his rocks off or anything; he had Erik for that. It was just that, surely, some of this stuff might be amateur videotapes of real people, doing the sorts of things real gay couples did, and maybe...maybe Charles could use that for scientific advancement, as it were. The first few hits were mostly hipster-type pictures of impossibly handsome boys wrapped chastely around each other, kissing in front of sunsets and so on. While Charles could objectively appreciate the aesthetics of these things, they weren't really what he was looking for. He was halfway down the page before he saw something that made him stop scrolling: a gif on a constant loop, some boy on his hands and knees with another guy behind him, tonguing at his arse. Christ, that wasn't -- that wasn't even anything Charles had ever thought of. Did people really do that? But the boy on his hands and knees certainly seemed to be enjoying it, judging by the way he pressed his face to the pillow and arched back against the other guy's mouth, and the bloke doing the...doing....looked pretty into it, too. Charles took a moment to imagine it, Erik's big hands under his thighs, holding him open, his clever mouth between Charles's legs. He had to admit, it wasn't exactly an offputting prospect, despite the novelty of it. 

Still, that hadn't quite been what Charles was looking for. He scrolled a little further, and found some looping gifs of boys in incredibly athletic positions, slamming into each other like piledrivers. The problem with this, Charles thought, squinting at the screen, was that it all sort of started in the middle. What sort of length of time should there be between going to bed and actually getting a dick in someone? How much lube should one use? Charles was under no illusions; he knew that fucking an arsehole was not remotely like fucking a vagina, and the last thing he wanted was for Erik to end up shredding him internally.

The longer he stared at the gifs, the stronger the queasy feeling in his stomach got. It wasn’t as if he didn’t want to have proper full-on-mindblowing-crazy-gay-sex with Erik, he still very much wanted to have Erik in every way possible -- which included Erik having him in every sense of the word as well. It was just… He so bloody nervous. What if he got hurt? What if Erik’s dick broke, for Christ’s sake? He'd read about it; it could happen...

In a sudden rush of anxiety, Charles jumped up from his bed, laptop thrown aside in his carelessness, and ran back downstairs to the living room where Erik had moved from the table onto the couch. He was sitting with his back facing the living room’s door, earbuds still in, so he didn’t notice it at first when Charles came running in.

In fact, he didn’t notice it for quite a while until Charles was standing directly behind him, close enough to see what was actually happening on his screen. And when Erik noticed, he accidentally dropped his laptop.

“What the fuck, Charles?! What is _wrong with you?_ ” he exclaimed as he jumped up from the couch, making Charles laugh even harder than before. “Don’t fucking sneak up on me like that and scare the crap out of me!”

“Oh Erik,” Charles wheezed, wiping his eyes with the heel of his hand. “You’re adorable when you’re caught doing something naughty.”

“Naughty? I --” Erik’s mouth opened and closed repeatedly like a dying fish on land.

“No?” Charles grinned. “And what’s that?” He nodded at Erik’s laptop where two figures, which could be identified as definitely male, were engaged in the wonderful act of the reversed-cowgirl-position. “Doesn’t really look like engineering to me, unless Biomechanics now involves a cock and an arsehole.”

It was a rare sight to see Erik’s cheeks colour so vividly. Charles almost felt sorry for teasing him. His amusement, however, exceeded his pity by lightyears and so he continued to laugh at him until he started to feel sick.

"Charles, for God's sake." Even Erik's voice was strained. "Look, I was just...researching." 

"Researching?" Charles was still giggling. "And? Have you discovered anything interesting?" 

Erik rolled his eyes and threw Charles a judgmental look, which only made Charles laugh harder. "There aren't exactly instruction manuals for this stuff, Charles!" 

"No? I would have thought you could have found one if you'd tried Google," Charles said, grinning. 

Erik snorted. "Something from 1975, maybe. I don't think that stuff is much help." 

"Aw, I'm teasing." Charles reached out, cupped the back of Erik's neck, and felt the muscles relax as Charles squeezed gently at the tightness there. "I've, uh. Had a bit of a search on Tumblr myself." 

"Oh, you fuck!" Erik's face was accusatory now, and Charles was still giggling as he straddled Erik's lap, leaned in to cup his face. 

"Shhhhh," he said. He brushed his mouth against Erik's, felt Erik relax beneath him. "Look, we don't have to rush into this. I know neither of us know anything about what we're doing here, but we don't have to be ashamed about trying to find out." 

"Is that so?" Erik lifted his head and smiled lopsidedly. "Is that why you were laughing at me?" 

"I couldn't resist." Charles brushed his thumb across Erik's lower lip and his smile softened. "It's sweet, really." 

"Sweet?" 

"Sweet." Charles's fingers carded through the back of Erik's hair where it was thick at the base of his skull, warm and curling slightly at his nape. A pause, and then -- "You want to do that to me, someday? You want me to ride you?" 

"Jesus Christ, Charles!" Erik was still scarlet, and Charles found himself enjoying it rather more than he should. There was something delicious about needling Erik into greater and greater depths of mortification. So saying, he rolled his hips languorously in Erik's lap, grinning at him coyly. 

"I might like that, you know. So long as we start out slow, with fingers...and lots of lube... " 

"Is that what you got out of your little Tumblr exploration?" Erik said, poking Charles in the ribs. "Lots of lube?" 

"As a matter of fact," Charles said, leaning in to kiss Erik's throat, "Tumblr didn't really have much to say about the lube. But I think we can be fairly sure about that part, all the same."

“Right,” Erik sighed as he cupped the back of Charles’s head, massaging him there with his deft fingers. “Do you know where we can get any?”

Charles snorted against his throat.

“Don’t be a dick, Xavier. You know what I mean.”

“Mmhm,” Charles lifted his head, flicking his tongue over his lips. “Believe it or not, I do.”

“And you’ve waited until _now_ to share this very important piece of information with me?”

“Well, it’s not as if we’d discussed months ago that we were going to butt fuck.”

“No, but I’ve definitely thought about it for an inappropriate amount of time.”

“Oh, in that case,” and now Charles was nipping at Erik’s jaw, “we'd better go and get some quickly, hadn't we?”


	12. Chapter 12

He was grateful that there was a Boots in the little town fifteen minutes away from his home because Charles doubted very much that either he or Erik could have waited much longer. They did feel a little self-conscious when they walked to the health section and looked at the various forms of lube available.

“Passion fruit?” Erik frowned. “Is this for sex or for food?”

“Don’t know, we could try either way.”

With a shudder, Erik put it away and picked another one. Smirking, he held it up to Charles’s face as he read out, “ _Very Cherry_ suits your lips.”

“Fuck off,” Charles blushed and snatched the bottle from his snickering boyfriend. He was aware of a couple of older ladies staring at them from the aisle next to theirs. “Can’t take you anywhere,” he muttered under his breath and dragged Erik over to the counter.

“Are you sure you don't want to get some of those massage oils and vibrators?” Erik teased, purring into his ear. Charles ignored him, struggling to keep a calm expression despite the cashier’s slightly worried look.

Once they were outside, Charles allowed himself to punch Erik’s biceps as hard as he could while Erik just laughed at him and told him to get over it and, come on, wasn’t it funny? While Charles might have agreed with Erik on that, he bit back a grin. He wouldn’t grant him that little moment of triumph.

When they got home with their bag of provisions, the whole thing seemed to take on a much more serious cast. Charles upturned the Boots bag on the table -- plain lube, strawberry lube (Erik had insisted) and a packet of condoms. Charles blinked down at the pile of...stuff...and then looked up at Erik. 

"Do we actually need condoms?" 

Erik wandered over to the table, slung his arm around Charles's shoulder. "Well, I don't know about you, but I'm clean. And, you know...you've sucked my cock already." 

Charles rolled his eyes, flushing. "Yes, and?" 

"Soooooo." Erik elbowed him in the ribs. "If you were going to catch something from me, you could just as easily get it from blowing me. If we're both clean, and monogamous…" 

Charles closed his eyes, imagining it. Erik coming inside him, Erik hot and slick and pulsing against his prostate, God. No, he didn't want anything between them. If they were going to do this, he wanted Erik's cock skin-to-skin with him, slick and ready and blood-warm. 

The Stuff sat on the table all afternoon, taunting them. Or so Charles thought, anyway, while he and Erik consumed a pizza and a half, snuggling on the floor in front of the sofa. Charles wasn't entirely sure why they'd ended up on the floor, but somehow it had seemed a better idea than trusting the plates of pizza to the welcoming cushions of the sofa, and Erik's shoulder, at any rate, was more comfortable than any sofa cushion. 

By the time bedtime rolled around, there was a tangible tension between the two of them, Charles's breath seeming ridiculously loud in his throat, Erik's big hand splayed hesitantly across Charles's thigh. God, those hands...a large part of Charles wanted to feel them inside him -- a part just as large as the bit that was terrified by the very prospect. 

_Come on, Charles. You want it. You can try it, at least_. 

It must have been ten-thirty when Charles leaned over, brushed Erik's cheek with his fingers, and murmured, "Erik?" 

"Hmmm?" Erik turned towards him, his smile soft and warm. It gave Charles strength. 

"Erik...let's go to bed." He swallowed. "Bring the lube." 

Charles knew Erik was an athletic sort of person, was aware that he did an early morning run each day but he had never witnessed him dashing out of a room so quickly as he was doing now. 

_Well_ , Charles flexed his fingers. _Glad to know we’re both eager._

“Charles, are you coming or are you waiting for an engraved invitation?” Erik’s voice boomed from upstairs. Charles didn’t waste another second hurrying up into his room.

*

“So, do you think this will do or…?” The question hung unfinished in the air while Charles eyed Erik’s fingers, coated with so much lube that it was beginning to drip down onto the towel they had laid out on the sheets.

“Um. I-I suppose we’ll have to try and see?”

“Okay, but as soon as I hurt you, please tell me.” Erik crawled in between Charles’s legs, kissed his right knee while his clean hand stroked down his inner thigh, encouraging Charles to part his legs further.

He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t on the verge of a panic attack, but he knew that Erik would be careful with him. “Come here,” he murmured, putting his arms around Erik’s neck, and pulled him in for a kiss. Any sort of distraction was more than welcome.

Erik hummed into the kiss while his clean hand stroked Charles's half-hard cock, making Charles gasp and cling to him a little more.

“Relax, babe,” Erik reminded him. And then there it was -- the first foreign touch of Erik’s fingertip against him.

Charles's breath hitched, his hips lifting. Erik's fingers were warm, slick with lube, and the sensation of them circling his arsehole was perhaps less strange than he had expected. So far, it wasn't anything to be afraid of, Erik gently rubbing at him, coaxing the muscle open. Charles bit his lip, let his head fall back onto the pillow. 

When Erik's finger slipped inside, it was a different matter. It didn't _hurt_ exactly, but Charles felt it as an intrusion, Erik's index finger sheathed inside him up to the last knuckle. He breathed out hard, felt his muscles clenching around Erik's finger. 

"All right?" Erik's voice was soft, hesitant. Charles bit his lip, nodded. 

"All right...just...be careful." 

He felt Erik turn his wrist, twisting his finger inside Charles, catching at something, and, oh -- 

"Fuck!" 

Charles's fingers dug into the duvet, the muscles in his abdomen tensing. "God, Erik -- do that again --" 

"Yeah?" A second finger went in easier than the first had, and then there were two of them, a firm sizeable girth, rubbing over that place inside Charles that made him bite his lip and arch his back and, God, was this why men wanted other men to fuck them into oblivion? 

"Oh, God, Erik." His voice was thin, his whole body shivering. "God, Erik, that's good. Keep doing that."

Erik smiled in relief. “This isn’t much different from fingering a girl, now is it?” he laughed and Charles smacked his arm good naturedly.

“It’s good,” he sighed, pushing lightly back against Erik who took the cue and obliged, fucking Charles with his fingers in a still slow but steadier rhythm. They continued like this for a while, Erik testing what Charles liked, watching his reactions while Charles reached out eventually to stroke himself. What Erik was doing to him felt exceptional and while Charles knew that technically a man could get off on this without having to be touched, he didn’t have that much self-restraint. His cock was hard and leaking precome onto his stomach, how could he not pay attention to it?

Erik let out a strangled sound and when Charles looked up, he saw that Erik's eyes were fixed on Charles's hand, still languorously stroking his cock. A frown flickered across Charles’s features as Erik took his hand away from his cock, pinning it to the mattress, and he was about to protest, when Erik leaned a little forward, murmuring, “Let me…” before he trailed off and leaned in to lick the shaft of Charles’s cock from root to top, slow and still a little insecure.

Charles clamped down hard on Erik’s fingers, a jolt running through his body, and he put a hand over his mouth, muffling the sounds that were escaping him.

“You know that we’re alone, right?” Erik laughed, and flicked his tongue along Charles once more, making Charles gasp and writhe underneath him while his dextrous fingers continued to work him open.

"I know, but...ugh..." Charles shuddered as Erik took the crown of his dick in his mouth, sucking hard at the head, drawing the foreskin lazily up over the slick tip. Erik surely didn't expect Charles to talk, not when he was doing this, fingerfucking him in slow hard thrusts while his mouth worked with unpractised enthusiasm. This must be what girls felt like, Charles thought, with fingers inside them and a hot mouth on their clit. Would Erik want Charles just the same like that, thighs spread for him, hot and wet and -- 

"Fuck, Charles...I can feel you clenching, it's so hard..." Erik's voice was full of an almost reverent awe, and Charles shuddered all over at the sound of it, feeling his muscles spasm around Erik's fingers. God, he was close, close in a way he'd never felt before, climax building in him from somewhere deep and indefinable. Erik was still mouthing at him, clumsy, but the combination of his tongue working the sensitive underside of Charles's crown and the pressure of his fingers crooking up against his swollen prostate was too much: he clutched fitfully at Erik's hair -- "Christ, Erik, I'm --" 

Erik groaned, and that was it, Charles was coming in sporadic bursts, first over Erik's tongue, then over his cheek and throat and Charles knew he'd wanted Erik to fuck him, but for now, this was so much more than good enough. Erik seemed pleased.

“I take it you liked it?” he said and planted a kiss to Charles’s inner thigh, nuzzling at it when he gently withdrew his fingers to wipe them clean on the towel.

With a little hitch in his breathing, Charles tried to get used to the sudden empty feeling, his muscles clenching reflexively. Once Erik was done with getting rid of the lube on his hands and the traces of Charles’s come on his face and throat, Charles urged him on to continue.

“Are you sure? I mean --” Erik swallowed. “I don’t want you to get sore or anything.”

“I’ll be fine,” Charles reassured him, drawing his arms around Erik's neck and pulling him down against him. “And I want you to do it, Erik. Please.”

Quietly, Erik nodded and pressed a string of light kisses along Charles’s jaw, down to his throat while he settled down between his legs, the tip of his cock aligned to Charles’s entrance. There was a moment of suspense, both of them holding their breath as Erik slowly pushed himself into Charles. Their gasps filled the silence of the room. Charles could tell that Erik was close.

“Go on.” He kissed the corner of Erik’s mouth which opened a little and their tongues met briefly. At least he felt more relaxed than before due to his orgasm. It was less problematic for Erik to penetrate Charles completely than it would have been before. When he was inside, he stilled for a moment to look down at Charles, his hand coming up to cup his cheek. Charles turned his face towards Erik's palm, pressed a kiss to it, and then Erik started to rock into him.

“I’m not going to last long,” he rasped out, his hips snapping forward.

“Shh, it’s okay.” Even like this, relaxed and boneless as he was, Charles could feel Erik inside him like a brand, rasping over the places Erik's fingers had sought out before. The sensation was duller now, less immediate, but still good on a deep, subsumed level, Erik's cock dragging gently over Charles's prostate as he fought to keep his breathing steady. 

"Mmmmm." His breath huffed out through his nose, his sounds of pleasure deep and muted in his throat. "God, yes, Erik, I can feel you. Erik…" 

"Gott, Charles, Liebling --" Erik shivered, fingers digging bruise-tight into Charles's hips, and then he was thrusting faster, cock slamming helplessly into Charles's body, pinning him to the bed. Erik was _inside Charles's body_ , and the thought would have been enough to make Charles hard again if he hadn't come so thoroughly, Erik gasping in his ear and fucking into him and his breath hot and damp in the curve of Charles's throat. 

Erik came like a gunshot, one final snap of the hips as he stilled and spent himself in Charles's body. Charles clutched at his back, petting the length of his spine as best he could, and Erik groaned softly, hips still rocking reflexively for a moment until he stilled, pulled out. A trail of ejaculate followed him, and Charles was conscious of it dribbling down between his thighs, sticky and unfamiliar. Erik's fingers drifted down, unthinking, and swiped the trail of come away, smeared it on the sheets. Charles half-laughed, and Erik wriggled nearer, pulling Charles into his arms. 

"I'm not sure if," he began, and Charles cut him off with a kiss, not wanting to hear it. Maybe that hadn't been picture-perfect, _porno-_ perfect, but it had been perfect for them. Erik fitted inside him, as if he belonged there, the two of them like two halves of a whole desperate to fuse together again. 

"I love you," he whispered, pressing a kiss to the bolt of Erik's jaw. "Shhhh. I love you, Erik." 

Erik tucked his face into the hollow of Charles's neck, squeezed him close. Mercifully, he made no attempt to say anything else before they both fell asleep.

*

The next morning, Charles couldn’t stop himself from smiling. He felt fresh and revived, albeit a little sore around the arse area, but he could handle it. Erik seemed to be in the same mood that had him grinning like an idiot. If anybody else had seen them right now, they would have been disgusted at how _sweet_ they were with each other. Charles felt as though he ought to feel sickened by it as well but he was just too bloody happy to let anything get in his way.

Which was why he finally sat down and took his time to look through his mother’s documents. Erik checked up on him from time to time, reminded him to eat and eventually, when evening rolled around, sat down next to him to help him sort out the documents.

“Oh, what’s this?” he asked as he took out an old leather-bound book.

“Hm?” Charles looked up, yawning. “Oh, this. It’s a photo album, I think. Haven’t really looked at it since there’s nothing of interest to me.”

“May I?” Erik asked although he had already opened it and begun flicking through the pages. Well, it couldn’t hurt to abandon his work for a while. He still had some days left before he had to go back to uni, so looking through some old photos wouldn’t completely destroy his time management.

“Is that you?” Erik laughed as he pointed at a photo of a little fat-cheeked boy who smiled shyly at the camera, holding a football, his knees decorated with grass stains.

“Nah, mother liked to take photos of random children in the neighbourhood. _Of course_ it’s me, you idiot.”

Erik made a low sound of derision, but continued to look through the album, taking his time with each page, and Charles settled down next to him, resting his chin on Erik’s shoulder. Together they laughed at pictures of Charles, but what struck both of them as strange was that there were no photos of Sharon or Charles’s father at all.

“I don’t know, maybe she threw them away?”

“Perhaps,” Erik agreed. Just when he was about to finish the book, one single photo came falling out from the very last page. Charles picked it up with a small frown.

“I’ve never seen that one,” he mumbled. Upon further inspection, he noticed that it showed him sitting on his mother’s lap...and another little boy standing by their side. Within a split-second, his heart leapt up into his throat. “Erik. I... I think that’s him.”

“Who?”

“My brother.”

Erik, who had been looking at something else while Charles had been occupied with the photo, stopped whatever he was doing and looked at the photo in Charles’s hand.

“Are you sure?” he said and took the photo from Charles, furrowing his eyebrows as he looked more closely at it.

“Well, I’ve never seen him before, so _I don’t know_. But…” And now he was running a nervous hand through his hair, leaning further against Erik for moral support. “It would be strange if it wasn’t him, right?”

While Charles looked at Erik expectantly, hoping to get an answer from him, a reaction, _anything_ , Erik had gone completely still. He was staring at the photo as though he had just had a revelation and Charles wasn’t sure what to make of it.

“Erik…?” he asked, careful, and nudged his shoulder with his. “Are you all right?”

“I…” He turned his head to back to Charles and his face looked as though he had just seen a ghost. “I don’t understand.”

“What?” Charles frowned. “What are you talking about?”

Without another word, Erik got up, still holding the photograph, and Charles followed him. “Erik, what are you -- ? Where are you going?”

Soon enough, he wished he had never got an answer to his question. Erik had gone to the living room where his wallet was lying next to his laptop. Erik’s silence was maddening while he fumbled with the wallet and retrieved an old, wrinkled photograph. He handed both photos back to Charles, his face an unreadable mask, and Charles took it from him with a look of confusion edged to his features.

As he looked at the photo, he felt as though someone had just knocked the wind out of his lungs.

“But --”

From both photographs, Sharon Xavier was smiling up at him.

Charles ran for the bathroom.


	13. Chapter 13

Five minutes of dry-heaving later, Charles was panting on his knees in the bathroom, both hands white-knuckled on the rim of the toilet. His mind was racing, but the majority of it was still intent on rejecting the information it had been given. Erik had a photograph of his mother. Okay. Perhaps Erik's father had known his mother? Perhaps they had known each other as children, and that was why they'd felt so drawn to each other when they met? 

But a dark voice at the back of Charles's mind said: _He's your brother, you idiot. You fucked your **brother**_. 

The thought made Charles clutch at his throat, breathless. He felt as if his world was crumbling around him. He'd wished so hard for parents like Erik's; little had he thought that Erik's father...Erik's father might actually be his father, too. 

_Shit_. Only a day ago, his head had been full of stupid fantasies: marrying Erik, adopting babies, being the cutest gay dads at the nursery. And now…

He straightened, leaned over to the sink to gulp cold water from the tap. And now, what? Even if he and Erik were brothers -- and they had no proof -- nobody else would ever know, would they? It wasn't as if they were going to breed and produce two-headed children. The Ancient Egyptians had bred siblings all the time, anyway, and he was drawn to Erik the way he'd never been drawn to anyone. 

Fuck. This was insanity. It was like a cheap straight-to-video docudrama gone wrong. Charles was still clutching the rim of the toilet when Erik knocked gently on the door. "Charles?" 

Charles let him in. Erik knelt down at once beside him, and God, he was still the most beautiful thing Charles had ever seen; Charles still wanted to kiss him and bite his stupid pretty mouth and drown himself in fucking this stupidly gorgeous boy until everything else was forgotten. They weren't brothers. Even if the DNA said so, they weren't _brothers_. They were meant to be together, that was all Charles knew. 

Wordless, he turned his face, and relief flooded him when Erik opened his mouth immediately into the kiss, his fingers combing through Charles's hair. The tears on Charles's cheeks were still wet, and Erik thumbed them away. 

"Charles," he murmured, "Charles, I --" 

"Ssshhh," Charles said, panic in his voice. "Shh, let's just -- pretend -- we never looked at anything; let's go back to this morning." 

Everything had been so much easier then, after all. 

*

“Maybe it’s just some tasteless joke of the universe,” Charles said that night when they were both lying in his bed, curled up together despite their moment of shock earlier. “Maybe your mother just looked like mine.”

“Maybe.” Erik sighed, his thumb brushing up and down Charles’s biceps. “And what if not?”

Charles only shrugged in reply. There was no way he could appropriately answer that question.

“What’s your brother’s name?” Erik asked after a while.

Charles sighed as he tried to remember it. “Uh, something with an ‘e’... Wait, let me get the testament of doom.”

When Charles came back a few minutes later, Erik held out his hand for it. While he read through it, Charles crawled back into bed with him, immediately curling up to Erik’s body. Somehow it still helped him to keep his grasp on sanity even though this was very likely not the way to do it right.

Next to him, Erik let out a grave sigh. “Eisenhardt? That… That was my name before my father changed it.”

“He did what?”

“Changed it. I mean.” He rubbed his face; Charles didn’t fail to notice how tired Erik looked. “Erik’s my second name; I've always been called Erik. I can't ever remember being called Max. And when Dad married Edie, we both took her last name.”

"Oh, Jesus." Charles blinked unseeingly at the bedcovers. Erik was his brother. Erik was his _brother_. Shouldn't that knowledge change things? Shouldn't he feel differently, now, looking at the sharp line of Erik's clavicle, the sweet dip of his waist? And yet, still, the only thing he felt was that visceral pull, the urge to be as close to him as possible. Christ, he was fucked up; they were so fucked up. His hand wandered onto Erik's waist, squeezed the crest of his hip. "You're...you're my brother." 

Beside him, Erik turned his head and smiled wanly. "Seems like it." His gaze shifted from Charles's eyes to his mouth and back again. "Is it awful that I….don't exactly feel brotherly towards you?" 

Relief washed through Charles from the crown of his head to the tips of his toes. "Oh, thank God. I know I should be grossed out in the extreme, but...it just doesn't seem real, you know?" Charles shook his head slowly. "Erik...Erik, I want to be with you." 

Erik sighed softly, carded his fingers through Charles's hair. "Well...who else would ever know?" 

Charles blinked, looked up at him. "Hmm?" 

"Who else would ever know?" Erik's eyes were wide and serious, his big hand cradling the back of Charles's head. "I mean, we could break things off and try to act like brothers and everything, but it won't change the fact that I already sucked your cock and fucked you up the arse." 

Charles couldn't help but burst out laughing at that, which had obviously been Erik's intention, because he was soon giggling too, the corners of his eyes crinkled with laughter. The whole thing...it was just _unreal_. Erik...Erik was just a man Charles had wanted from the first moment he saw him. Erik was Erik, and that was all.

“What am I supposed to tell the solicitor, though? That, yes, I’ve found my brother?”

They fell silent over that question, each one of them pondering it.

“I suppose it’d be all right if we told him about it. But nobody else.”

“You’d be rich, Erik.” Charles took Erik's hand in order to play with his fingers. “You wouldn’t have to worry about financial matters ever again. Or your parents.” If they were going to live in a fantasy world, act as if this made no difference, then Charles might as well push the fantasy as far as possible, surely. 

“ _Our_ parents, little brother,” Erik corrected with a wry smile. Charles made a face.

“Please don’t call me that. It makes it more awkward than it already is.” He shuddered visibly.

“Whatever you want, little brother.”

“I’m serious, Erik.”

“I know, little one.” Erik had his face buried in the mop of Charles’s chestnut hair, laughing quietly against him.

“You’re incorrigible.”

“Must run in the family.”

With a groan, Charles flicked off the light on his bedside table. “Good night, Erik.”

“Love you, too, darling brother.”

When Charles didn’t reply, Erik kissed his shoulder apologetically.

“Sorry, but I’d rather make fun of this whole mess instead of going crazy over it.”

“I know,” Charles replied and reached behind him for Erik’s hand and tugged it in front of his chest, holding it against him. “I simply choose to ignore reality and substitute my own.”

“Oh, and what would that be?” Erik’s breath was warm against his neck, his voice had lost its teasing undertone and had turned wistful instead.

Charles sighed heavily. Erik had such beautiful hands, Charles could read them even in the dark, his long fingers and broad palms. Avoiding the question for a moment, he gently smoothed Erik's hand flat, laid his own against it. Erik's fingers were long enough to curl fully down over Charles's, which made them both laugh softly. 

"We're not brothers," Charles said slowly. Whether this was his substituted reality, or simply his gut feeling, he wasn't yet sure. "We didn't grow up together. We haven't any memories of Christmases together, or fighting over toys. We don't even share the same first language, for God's sake." Charles squeezed Erik's hand again. "But...there's something between us. I know we're young, and with anyone else, I'd have felt stupid saying at this point, 'I want to be with you forever.' But, Erik, I do. I've never ever wanted another man, but the moment I saw you…" He broke off. "And I feel like...maybe that's _because_ we share DNA, you know?" He bit his lip. "Is that sick?" 

Somewhere, at the back of his mind, something was ringing a bell, something he'd heard in a lecture once and paid no attention to. It wasn't as if it was ever going to be relevant to his life, after all. How little he'd known then. Pulling himself upright, Charles fumbled for the bedside lamp. Beside him, Erik stirred, blinking against the light when Charles turned it on. 

"Charles?" Erik's face was scrunched up in protest, and Charles felt fondness well up in his chest all over again at how sweet he looked like this. 

"I just remembered something," Charles said, scrambling for his phone. Erik had remained pensively silent during Charles's ramblings, but now he looked alert, watching Charles's fingers as he typed. It didn't take much googling to find what Charles was looking for. He opened the page, cleared his throat. 

"Genetic sexual attraction," he read, "is sexual attraction between close relatives, such as siblings or half-siblings, a parent and offspring, or first and second cousins, who first meet as adults. Heredity produces substantial physical and mental similarity between close relatives. Shared interests and personality traits are commonly considered desirable in a mate. Estimates are that IQ is about 80% heritable, and the big five personality factors are about 50% heritable. For the above reasons, genetic sexual attraction is presumed to occur as a consequence of genetic relatives meeting as adults, typically as a consequence of adoption."

Charles stopped. His throat felt dry all of a sudden, and Erik was looking at him, wide-eyed.

"You're telling me," he said, slowly, "that...this isn't even weird? It's...to be expected?"

Charles shrugged. He was still scanning the article, every subsequent sentence making his heart beat faster in his throat. "Christ, Erik, look at this. There have been tons of cases. _Tons_. A married couple in Germany have been fighting anti-incest laws for years since the state found out they were brother and sister. They keep putting the guy in prison, but he goes back to his wife and her kids every time they let him out. And another couple in South Africa, the same...and, fuck...two, three, four cases of women having kids by their biological fathers…" 

"Jesus." Erik tipped his head back, looking at the ceiling. "Well, that puts it in perspective." 

"Not half." Charles was grinning. He wasn't entirely sure _why_ , but in so many ways, this...this was validation. This was _genetics_ , something he could understand. "And...Erik...these cases, people know about them because there were kids involved. Because they had DNA tests. Because they got married and went to the hospital and had babies. You and me...there wouldn't be any babies. There's just…" Charles breathed out slowly. "I'm straight, right? I've always thought I was straight. But I've never, ever wanted to fuck anyone the way I want to fuck you." 

When he glanced sideways at Erik, Erik's eyes had gone dark, his expression predatory. Something stirred in Charles's stomach. 

"So you're saying," Erik said, pacing himself carefully, "that _genetics_ is why I want to fuck my brother. That my genes want to...fuse back together with yours." 

Charles's voice was hardly more than a whisper. "I...yes." 

"Gott, Charles." Erik was on him, then, mouthing at his throat, kissing Charles's mouth over and over, frantic little kisses. "Thank God for that, because I never want to fuck anyone but you again." 

*

They continued to live in their little bubble of insanity for as long as possible, holding on to their belief that it was somehow _okay_ , what they were doing. It was easier to just reject reality, to ignore the fact of how wrong and messed up their relationship was, instead of just sobering up and breaking things off. Erik had stumbled across a whole series of websites pushing for 'Fully Equal Marriage', and kept reading aloud bits of articles to Charles about how punishing consensual adult incest was totally stupid and immoral, and Charles let himself be swept away by Erik's rhetoric, even though the word _incest_ still turned his stomach. 

While they were still at Charles’s home, they continued to pretend that things would work out in the end. It was just them and nobody else could judge them. No-one knew about them. It was the perfect ground that provided the basis for a deeper bond between them.

Once they had found out that Erik was indeed Charles’s brother, they didn’t hesitate to inform Charles’s solicitor, eager to get rid of this matter as soon as possible. Things would be settled over the next month, Erik would inherit half of Sharon’s fortune, and then -- maybe -- they could go on like this without anybody noticing. It almost seemed perfect.

Except when it was time for them to go back to Oxford, the harsh reality of their relationship slowly started to sink in.

It was strange, Charles thought, how the sudden change of environment could also alter their feelings. At first, they hadn’t been too concerned. They agreed on just going on about their studies as they usually would have and try to spend every minute with each other which was not spent on studying or writing essays. Charles was dimly aware that, perhaps, this was an unhealthy plan for both of them but whenever he looked at Erik, finding a soft smile on his lips which was exclusively for Charles and no-one else, he felt a pull in his gut, dark and perverted, and -- God -- it had his mouth dry and his blood rushing through him with want.

Brother or not, he would never be able to resist the twisted temptation that was Erik Lehnsherr.

Sooner or later, however, the bubble had to burst. Charles could pinpoint the exact moment when he felt the first crack.

Erik had walked him to his Biology department and after a stolen kiss hidden away from curious eyes behind a corner, Charles was wearing the most stupid smile. He and Hank were lab partners for today’s lecture and while Hank was writing down notes for their experiment, Charles sneaked glances every now and then at his phone as it kept buzzing in his pocket. Hank was too distracted to notice it, thankfully, and so Charles replied to Erik’s lewd texts with equally obscene messages. He had never sexted anyone during class before but now it was slowly turning into his favourite thing.

 _So bored_ Erik texted. _Keep drifting off, daydreaming about you sucking me off. Your mouth is so fuckable._

Charles's cheeks burned, but he couldn't keep himself from smiling down at his phone. _Oh? You want to fuck it?_

Setting his phone down, Charles tried to refocus his attention on the lecturer, but the image Erik had placed in his head was distracting, to say the least. When his phone buzzed again, it vibrated resoundingly against the table, and Charles quickly snatched it up. 

_God yes. And then let's take all our clothes off and fuck in my bed until we're worn out, and then when we wake up, I'll suck your dick._

Charles bit his lip on a strangled sound, pressing his hand to his mouth. He was grinning like a madman, he knew, delighted and scandalised and awkwardly half-hard under the table. The mental picture Erik had painted made him catch his breath, the secrecy of their relationship only adding to the titillation. It wasn't until he set down his phone again that he caught Hank's eye. 

Hank jerked guiltily away, but it was too late. Charles felt his face drain of blood, looking at Hank's averted gaze and pink cheeks. A moment later, though, Hank pushed a scrap of paper across the table, and Charles unfolded it, feeling ridiculously like a criminal being brought to justice. 

In Hank's spidery hand were the words _You got a girlfriend?_

Charles glanced at Hank who was hunched over his paper, writing diligently down more notes.

_I suppose so._

He hoped earnestly that this was answer enough as he discreetly pushed the paper back. Hank took it, read it and then shrugged. When he wrote down a reply, it said, _Congrats_ with a little smiley and Charles breathed out slowly. He gave Hank a small smile which the other returned until Charles’s phone vibrated again.

_Christ, I can’t stop thinking about fingering you. It’s better than with any girl I’ve ever had. Let me fuck you with my fingers, Charles, I want to hear you beg for it._

Grinning into the sleeve of his lab coat, Charles failed to notice that Hank was stealing another curious glance at his phone screen. And when he did, he almost dropped his phone.

“Hank, _what the fuck_?” he hissed angrily as the other quickly moved away, shoving up his glasses with his long fingers as he stammered out a weak reply.

“I-I’m sorry, Charles, I don’t know why I looked, it won’t happen again. I swear, I won’t tell anyone.”

Charles instantly paled at that, his heart sinking into his boots.

_I won’t tell anyone._

Crap. Charles bit his lip, his heart pounding. Why the hell did Hank think it was okay to snoop on somebody else's phone like that? Surely it was just common courtesy not to do that. But now it wasn't exactly as if Charles had much choice. Hank had better not tell anyone. But Christ, did it have to have been that message he'd overseen? The thought of Hank knowing, knowing how Charles felt about being penetrated like that...it was humiliating. As far as Charles was concerned, he was still largely a straight man, and the idea of being misconstrued that way was unsettling. After a moment of hesitation, Charles wrote: 

_You better not tell Raven._

Hank's reply came almost immediately. _Do you really think she'd mind?_

Charles blinked down at the paper, bemused. Did he think Raven would mind? Was Hank insane? Charles hadn't ever pinned Hank for a hippy commune free love kind of guy. He furrowed his brow, wrote back: _You don't think she'd hate me if she knew I was fucking Erik?_

His heart was pounding as he passed the note, but it sank into his boots when Hank's reply came -- _It's Erik???_

Oh, shit. Shit shit shit. Abruptly, Charles felt sick. He met Hank's eyes, guilty and hesitant. Aloud, Hank whispered, "Erik?" 

Charles didn't even think before he got up out of his seat, gathering his things and heading blindly for the exit. Around him, other students were eyeing him curiously, but Charles couldn't pay them any mind. He'd put his big fucking foot in it. He had to get away, get out. What the fuck had he done?

*

“Calm down, Charles, it’ll be all right, you’ll see.”

“How do you know?” Charles asked with an unhappy laugh. Erik handed him a cup of tea before he sat down next to him on his futon, putting an arm around Charles. “I fucked up, Erik. I might as well could have written it on the blackboard that, I, Charles Xavier, am fucking Erik Lehnsherr. Would have got the same reaction from Hank.”

Erik was more relaxed about it than Charles, but then, he wasn’t Raven’s best friend. She wouldn’t shun him for the rest of his life and make him feel guilty every time they met.

“I’m sure you’re just overreacting and -- and, well, that Hank won’t tell her.”

“I’m _not_ overreacting.” Anger tinged his voice and although his irritation was mostly directed at himself, he accidentally let Erik feel it, too. His features softened slightly as he noticed Erik’s frown, and he rubbed his face. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to snap at you, I just… I’m worried. It’s not just because of Raven but… What if they find out?”

They both looked at each other for a long moment, each one of them trying to come up with an answer that would justify their secret.

“It won’t come to that,” Erik said quietly after a while. “I won’t let that happen.”

“Oh, really. And how, if I may ask? Are you going to threaten Hank?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Erik clicked his tongue, all playfulness had vanished. “We just have to be careful. Nobody knows that we’re related and nobody’s ever going to find out. Simple as that.”

Charles made another unhappy sound but Erik squeezed the ball of his shoulder.

“Let Raven think we’re together, I don’t care. They don’t know we’re more than that and they won’t ever know.” As he said this, his voice having dropped to a soft murmur, he nuzzled at the side of Charles’s face and pressed light kisses just below his earlobe.

The sensation of Erik's mouth was as a wonderful as ever, soft and warm on Charles's sensitive skin, but Charles was too preoccupied to let himself be so easily distracted. It was bad enough to think of how Raven might react to the knowledge that Charles and Erik had been having sex; the idea of how she might react if she knew the whole truth made Charles physically sick. It was all very well for Charles and Erik to logic their way out of the whole incest situation, but Charles wasn't an idiot. He knew Raven wouldn't see it their way. More than that, it was illegal. Illegal, like a homosexual relationship in the 19th century. They'd be condemned to lie all their lives, or else they could end up in prison -- or shunned, at least, by polite society. 

"Erik," Charles said softly. His voice was tired, weary. "We can't keep this up." 

"Keep what up?" Erik's fingers carded Charles's hair behind his ear, his eyes earnest on Charles's. Charles's chest ached heavily, but he forced the words out. 

"This...this whole thing. Erik, we're brothers. It's wrong. We have to stop."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What Charles reads out is taken straight from the Wikipedia article, jsyk.


	14. Chapter 14

Charles had never broken up with anyone before he met Erik. And, in all honesty, he knew exactly why he had never wanted to do it. Breaking up with a girl you might have dated a couple of times was one thing -- and Charles was already too nice for that. However, how does one break-up with someone such as Erik? Lovely, beautiful Erik whom he loved like hadn’t loved anyone before? It had been more than difficult to convince himself that what he did was right. Erik’s pleading, however, had had him almost wavering in his resolution.

When Charles left St. John’s, he felt nothing but numbness gripping him, and the vague sense of nausea which only got worse as he walked home. As he entered his flat, their conversation was repeating itself over and over again in his mind.

_I want you by my side, Charles. We want the same thing._

_My friend… I’m sorry, but we do not._

It was a miracle that he had been determined enough to soldier through it.

When it was time for bed, Charles didn’t feel particularly tired, just mentally exhausted in a way he had never felt before. Briefly, he checked his phone, half expecting that Raven had sent him an angry text, half anticipating to see his entire screen lit up with messages and missed calls from Erik.

And yet…

Nothing.

No calls. No texts. No Erik.

Charles should have known better than that; Erik wasn’t the kind of person who’d continue begging until it was starting to get pathetic. He had pleaded with Charles before that he should think about it and when he had refused, had it made clear that his decision had been made, Erik had quietly accepted it.

Of course that didn’t keep him from missing Erik or wishing he could take it all back. But he had done the right thing, he knew it.

Charles didn’t fall asleep until half past three in the morning.

*

The next day, he woke to a sort of hollowness. He hadn't quite realised just how much impact Erik had had on his life, but when it got to his second lecture and he still had no word from Erik, he felt...empty. Sporadically, he'd pick up his phone, refresh the screen, just in case something had come through and been stopped by the crappy signal in the Faculty building. Surely, Erik wouldn't have given up on him so fast, would he? 

But then, Charles told himself...he wanted Erik to give up on him. This was for the best. Maybe, if they'd discovered each other as brothers...but it was too late now. Erik had got to him, had been _inside_ him, for God's sake. Charles could still almost taste it, the fat stretch of Erik's cock inside him. Of his _brother_ inside him, Jesus Christ. He was fucked up, they were fucked up, and the best thing Charles could do was forget about it. Erik would get his money: the solicitor would see to that. Otherwise, there was nothing else to do but keep out of Erik's way. Maybe Charles would take years to get over Erik, but Charles was easier to get over, wasn't he? Erik would be able to get on with his life fairly soon. 

Two days of silence later, Charles was in a bar. He was half drunk, elbow propped on the counter, eyeing up the girls on the other side of the room. He needed to put Erik out of his head. He needed to put this whole shitty awful thing behind him, the whole thing where his gut still ached for lack of Erik, where he still wanted nothing more than his brother's mouth on his.

Charles wasn’t granted much luck. In fact, he was fairly certain that someone up there must have hated him because instead of new possible flings to forget Erik with, Raven came walking into the establishment. Charles didn’t even have enough time to react; Raven had spotted him instantly, and when she noticed him, her face twisted into a grimace of pure anger.

If he had been less drunk, he’d have made a dash for it and tried to escape her, but instead his body disobeyed him and he simply stayed where he was seated, looking more miserable and heartbroken than before.

“You fucking asshole!” Raven snapped at him and punched his shoulder. With a flinch, Charles quietly accepted her way of greeting him. He felt like he deserved it.

“Hi, Raven. Do you want to sit down?”

“No!” she nearly yelled at him but sat down opposite him nevertheless. “I -- Fucking Christ, Charles, I’m so, so, _so angry_ at you, I --” She took a deep breath, her eyes closed. Patiently, he waited for her to collect her thoughts. When she spoke again, her voice was calmer, less shrill but it still trembled with anger. “What were you even thinking? You…You _stole my boyfriend_.”

“Technically, you weren’t together, you just had a fling.” Fuck, he really couldn’t hold his tongue when he was drunk, could he?

Raven looked just as offended as his words were. “How dare you --”

“I’m just saying how it is,” he sighed, rubbing a hand over his tired face. “It always takes two to tango, Raven. It’s not like I had _planned_ on doing this. Erik’s just as much to blame, I suppose.”

Raven just sat there, quietly listened to him and when he emptied his beer, she spoke again.

“Fuck you, Charles. You could’ve stopped this. You know how much I liked him.”

“Well, maybe you’re happy to hear that, in fact, I fucking stopped it!” he snapped back, and Raven jerked. He had never snapped at her before.

"What do you mean, you stopped it?" 

Charles shrugged. "It was an accident! You weren't there. It shouldn't have happened. It did, but it was a mistake. It's over." Charles slammed his glass down on the bar and looked Raven fiercely in the eyes. "You can have him." 

"Oh, how fucking generous of you." Charles had never seen Raven pull such a vicious expression. "I thought you were straight?" Raven laughed pathetically. "I thought you were both straight!" 

"I don't know what to say." Charles wasn't drunk enough for this. What could he say? He's my brother, so I made an exception? Hardly. Charles sighed, took another drink. Raven had gone quiet.

"You should have told me," she said, at length. "It's not like I would have cared if you were bi, Charles.”

He let out an aggravated sigh. “I’m not -- I’m not _bisexual_ , Raven. I’m not attracted to other men. Just...Erik.”

“Sorry, but that still counts as bi.”

“Whatever,” he waved a dismissive hand. “Believe whatever you want to believe. I don’t care.”

“Yeah, I can see that,” she barked out a mirthless laugh. “I mean, look at you. You’re a right mess. Have you even taken a shower since you arrived here?”

“I don’t think I need to justify the current level of alcohol in my blood or my hygiene to anybody, do I?” he frowned, sipping from his drink.

“Of course not. I just think…” She trailed off, causing Charles to look up at her. When their eyes met, he almost regretted that he had allowed this conversation to start in the first place. There was nothing malicious in her eyes anymore, neither anger nor resentment -- only sympathy.

He bristled. “ _What_?”

“Do you love him?”

Running a fingertip along the rim of his glass, Charles stayed silent. At this moment, he felt very much like a deflated balloon, now that all his anger seemed to have left him thanks to only one question.

“It’s not about whether or not I’m in love with him. It’s complicated.”

“Complicated?”

“Complicated.” He smiled bitterly into his glass as he took another sip, blinking when his eyes started well up. He cleared his throat as he tried to get rid of the sudden lump, before he spoke, “Look, Raven, I don’t really know what the purpose of this is. It’s over between Erik and me. It doesn’t matter what we may feel.” And then, more quietly and as if to assure himself one more time, “It’s better that way.”

He might have expected anything from her, but he didn’t think she’d groan and roll her eyes at him.

“Please, stop being so melodramatic, Charles.” She might have tried to look grim but a smile still fought its way through.

“I thought you hated me. Why would you even smile right now?”

“I’m still mad at you. Really fucking mad, and I don’t think I’ll forgive you for at least another two months. But --” Lightly, she placed her hand atop of his, giving it a gentle squeeze. “You’re my best friend, Charles. I’m not going to drop that just for a cock we both happen to fancy.”

If he hadn’t felt like crying until this moment, he certainly did now.

“Oh, Raven, in the history of fuck ups, I’ve fucked up so bad that I should be crowned King of Fuck Ups.”

“Don’t say that,” she gave another warm, softer smile. “I heard that Hitler bloke was pretty bad, too.”

He choked out a laugh that sounded more like a sob than anything else. It was pathetic.

"Look, Raven, I know you're trying to help, but you don't get it." 

"So help me get it!" Raven's eyes were earnest, her grip fierce on Charles's hand. "Is this about his parents? Is he religious?" 

"Oh, God." Charles closed his eyes and sighed. "It's...it's complicated. I love you, Raven, but I can't tell you. You'd really hate me then." 

"I don't believe that," Raven said firmly. Charles could feel his eyes tearing up, treacherous. 

"I do," he said, softly. "Just...would you come home with me? Talk about something else?" 

"To distract us both from our twisted wrecks of love lives?" But Raven still looked sympathetic, concerned. Charles felt bad for worrying her with his secrecy, but honestly, what option did he have? He took Raven's hand. 

"I know I'm a boy-stealing arse and you're angry with me. But would you sleep over with me?" 

"Oh, Charles." Raven sighed, leaned over and kissed him on the temple. "Of course. Don't think you're forgiven, but I can't resist your little sad face." 

Charles smiled. "Thank you."

*

It wasn’t easy to stay away from Erik. Sometimes Hank would talk about his day while they were out for lunch, and his ears perked up each time Erik’s name was mentioned. He never enquired further, though. Charles liked to live by the rule _out of sight, out of mind_ , and while he might have thought of going over to St. John’s, maybe catch a glance of Erik, he never allowed himself to do so.

He knew he really shouldn’t be bothered by it -- in fact, he should be grateful instead but there was one tiny thing that niggled at Charles, had him sometimes staying up late and wondering. The fact that Erik didn’t seek any contact. Was he thinking about him at all? And if so, did he miss him, too? Charles liked to imagine that Hank would sometimes talk about him to Erik the way he did when he was together with Charles. Just casual pleasantries to let Erik know that he hadn't jumped off the nearest bridge yet, that he was coping somehow…

Or that was at least what Charles held on to. Without it, there was just the unbearable possibility left that Erik hated him now; a thought which made Charles’s heart weigh heavy in his chest.

At least Oxford was big enough that they wouldn’t necessarily run into each other. They could just go on avoiding each other until Erik was finished with his master's and went back to Germany, and Charles would never have to worry about him again. The North Sea and several hundreds of miles between them would make things easier. Surely.

As for now, he’d just have to continue avoiding Erik for the next one and a half years. It was manageable.

And maybe, maybe they could face each other again some day. One day.

For a couple of weeks, this almost worked. Charles drifted through his lessons and tutes, but he could tell his tutors were disappointed in him. He wanted to improve for them, wanted to perform to his potential, but he felt empty, somehow, unsettled. Incomplete. 

God, it was just Charles's luck to end up bound heart and soul to the one person he could never be with; the one person society would never accept. 

_Incest is legal in France_ said a treacherous voice in his head. They could move to Paris, get a house together, keep their past quiet and still be legally safe. That could work, right? 

He was being stupid. What would Erik's parents say? They'd be weirded out enough at Erik bringing home a boy. Charles didn't want to be responsible for destroying the happy family life Erik had, which Charles had never known. Besides...maybe Erik had got over him. Maybe if Charles just kept his head down and concentrated, he could get over Erik, too. 

This would have been a great plan, had it not been for the solicitor's letter. 

Charles wasn't sure what he'd expected. To notify the lawyers of Erik's relationship to him and then be done with it, really. But now apparently the solicitor needed to see him. And Erik. Together.

He’d have to travel all the way to London -- a prospect he didn’t really like. He would have preferred to just stay at home, like a hermit, and sign some papers he could have easily sent back to his solicitor. He comforted himself with the thought that he didn’t need to go by train or drive himself. He could let someone else drive and just sleep on the way, since sleeping was the only thing that really helped him to switch off his brain.

*

Before Charles got into the car, he had briefly considered that perhaps he should down two or three shots in order to be able to face the impending meeting. He might or might not have checked his cupboard, just to see if there was any rum or some other high-proof beverage left which he could have smuggled with him. He needed to honour his family name after all, keeping traditions alive and all that.

Now that he was sitting inside the solicitor’s office -- not directly, but outside in the waiting room -- he wished he had listened to his inner voice and got drunk out of his mind. Erik hadn’t arrived yet, thank God. It would have made things only more awkward than they already were.

_First we shared a bed, now we’ll share a fortune._

Oh well. It’s not as if Charles would notice it once they had split up the money. They’d still be able to feed generations to come with that money.

With a grave sigh, Charles glanced at his watch; he had been sitting here for almost fifteen minutes. The solicitor’s voice could be heard through the door, muffled as it was, and Charles started to wonder how long a business phone call can actually last until it gets weird, when suddenly the entrance door opened and in stepped Erik.

Charles felt his heart leaping up into his throat.

Erik hadn’t noticed him as he first greeted the secretary who mostly shielded Charles from Erik’s view. But once he turned around in order to sit down as well, he stopped abruptly at the sight of Charles, his face paling in an instant.

Well, this was going better than he had expected.

“Erik,” Charles greeted him and was surprised at how calm his voice sounded.

“Charles,” the other nodded and walked over to the chairs. He didn’t sit down directly next to Charles, actually he kept a safe distance from him which sent a spark of disappointment through Charles’s heart.

_Christ, what were you even expecting?_

He knew, after all, that he had been the one to force the issue of a separation between himself and Erik. Erik...God. Charles couldn't even process how Erik's mind was working. Maybe the difference was, Erik had grown up happy, with a mum and a dad and no thought of anything or anybody else to make the family complete. To him, then, Charles's genetic relationship to him was incidental, like having found out that he and Charles had gone to the same primary school or something. He couldn't look at Charles and think 'brother'. Whereas, to Charles, who had grown up alone in a big empty house with his alcoholic mother, the idea of his lost brother and father had been built up in his head into a fantasy, and now Erik was the fulfilment of it. But Jakob...if Jakob was Charles's father, how could he not want to go to him and tell him so, be adopted into that wonderful family? 

And yet, if he did that...he would be accepting Erik as his brother, as only his brother, and this awful secret would forever be between them. And Erik...Charles didn't think Erik recognised quite what this meant. That Charles might want to reconcile with his father, their father. Charles only wished that he could have that found family, and have Erik, too, in his bed and in his heart. Fuck, it was a mess. Worst of all, he still couldn't help but look at Erik and feel that pull, that need to climb into his lap and rub his face against Erik's, learn his scent again. Erik's big hands on him had been like benediction, the first truly loving touch he'd ever known. 

God, why did they have to find each other like this? Why did this thing, this awful wrong corrupted thing, have to feel so thoroughly perfect when he and Erik were alone and naked in his bed? Even now, he couldn't muster nausea at the thought. Erik was a gorgeous, clever, funny, wonderful man, and Charles loved him. It should have been easy. It felt like some sort of cosmic joke that it wasn't. 

Neither of them spoke. Charles thought he caught Erik glancing at him from time to time as they waited, his sea-swept eyes drifting in Charles's direction. Charles clasped his fingers in his lap and tried to breathe. He felt as if the solicitor was going to see right through them. Part of him feared that Erik would stand up and declare their love, incest pride or something. Another, bigger, part of him feared that Erik wouldn't even speak to him, that he'd fucked this up beyond redemption.

"How did you get here?" he asked after a while, hoping to diffuse the tension between them. If Charles had one gift, it was his empathy. He usually had no problems with reading other people, knew exactly what he needed to say or do to lighten the mood. With Erik now, however, he was lost. It was as if the other had closed him off, refusing to let Charles in.

"Train," Erik answered after one uncomfortable moment. And then, hesitantly, "And you?"

"Cab." Charles tried to muster his most winning smile. Erik only stared back at him with no sign of emotion. Charles hastened to add out of sheer nervousness, "When this is over you'll be able to afford it as well."

"Probably."

Well, if Erik was playing mood-killer, let him. But Charles wasn’t going to get unfriendly about it. 

"Listen, if you want to, I can take you back home afterwards. Saves you money and it's more comfortable than having to fight for a seat."

"Mmm." Erik's voice was flat. He wasn't quite meeting Charles's eyes. "I thought you didn't want us to see each other any more?" 

Charles sighed. "Look, Erik...I never meant…" 

"What?" Erik raised one eyebrow pointedly. "I thought you were pretty clear. You'd never have spoken to me again if the solicitor hadn't called this meeting." 

"That's not true," Charles said weakly. In this moment, his intuition was failing him. Erik was angry, but Charles couldn't pinpoint what exactly he was angry about. He suspected Erik didn't really know, either. "I never wanted us to...not speak ever again. We're -- we're friends, Erik." 

"Friends!" Erik laughed shortly. "What, you think we can go back to playing happy families after this? Just go home and casually tell my dad that you're his long-lost son, and oh, _by the way_ , we fucking fell in love with each other because life's a bitch that way?" 

"Erik!" Charles's voice was a low whisper of caution, and Erik rolled his eyes. 

"That's right, hush me. It won't change anything, Charles. It is what it is. But we're not _brothers_. The fact that we share 50% of our genetic makeup doesn't make us any more similar than any two random kids who grew up in the same isolated village. And we didn't even grow up together! The first time we met, I --" Erik broke off, as if his will had run out, and Charles bit his lip. Erik still cared, then. That wasn't why he was angry. 

"I know," he said softly. "But I don't understand what you want from me. You want to see me, but you don't think we can be friends. And anything else…" 

"Anything else is just the way things are." Erik crossed his legs, leaned back in his chair and sighed. "Laws are black and white, clean cut. Taboos are built into societies because of things that were relevant back in ancient times. But think about it, Charles...who would we really be hurting?" 

Charles lifted one shoulder weakly. "Your father?" 

"Our father." Erik leaned in, something alight in his eyes, as if he were daring Charles to challenge him. "You really think I'd tell him? Dad, this is my brother, this is your son; he likes to ride my dick and have me bite bruises into his neck?" 

"Sshhhh." Erik's voice was rising again, and Charles could hear his heart beating fast in his throat. "What if I want a father, Erik? What if I want _my_ father back?" 

Erik shrugged. "So, tell him! Go home, let him welcome you with open arms! Then tell him we're living together; what's he going to say? Long-lost brothers find each other again, form inseparable bond. It's not so strange." 

Charles slumped into his chair. He wished he could have Erik's confidence about everything, Erik's belligerent conviction that everything he was, everything he believed in, was justified. But Charles...Charles was afraid. He didn't know what he could say to Erik. He didn't even know what he could tell himself. 

Luckily, at that point, the solicitor opened the door, and Charles was saved. For the moment. 

"Mr Xavier? Mr Eisenhardt?" 

"Lehnsherr," Erik said smoothly, as he got up and walked into the man's office. "Eisenhardt is who I was in another life."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter left! :)


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is the last chapter and we're a little sad about it, but we hope you'll enjoy it anyway.

The next hour left Charles bereft of any sort of energy. While they discussed Sharon’s last will and settled everything, the tension between Erik and him didn’t dissipate one bit. Charles had tried his best to appear normal, friendly, even happy to have _finally_ found his brother after all these years but it left nothing but a bitter taste in his mouth.

When everything was signed and settled, he grabbed his coat and was the first to leave as Erik was obviously not keen on the idea of them sharing a ride home.

He wasn’t sure exactly how long it’d take a cab to arrive, but this was London and they were simply everywhere. As he buttoned up his coat against the cold February air, he started to walk down the road, hoping to find an available cab soon. He was lost in thought, reiterating the conversation with Erik in his head over and over again while hating his current life in general, and so it was lost on him when a voice called his name three times until it was directly behind him.

“Will you fucking stop already, Xavier?” Erik’s irritated voice dragged him unceremoniously back into reality. With a little start, Charles half-turned to face him.

“What?” he simply asked. By now, he was too tired to fight. He just wanted to get back home and sleep for at least half a year.

“I’m coming with you.”

“But you just said --”

“Fuck that,” Erik muttered, his hands shoved into the pockets of his leather jacket. “Can’t be arsed to ride the peasant wagon when I get an offer for a free ride.”

Charles nodded quietly and off they went. Erik was, as always, a bloody puzzle to him.

In the back of the cab, they sat quietly on opposite sides of the backseat while Charles gave directions to the driver. It was a long way to go in a taxi, but Charles made certain to explain that he could pay, and the driver laughed and shrugged. "Your money, mister." 

"Our money," Charles murmured softly. Erik had protested being given that much money by a mother he had no memory of...it was truly a ridiculous amount of money. But the solicitor had told him that rejecting it would involve contesting the will, and that would be so much more difficult and time consuming than just acknowledging it, and then giving it away to a charity, if that was what Erik wanted to do. So Erik had acquiesced, and so, for now, the Xavier fortune was split between him and Charles. 

Split between two incestuous brothers in the back of a cab on the way back to Oxford. Charles had to laugh, or he would have cried. 

"So," Erik ventured, about half an hour in. "How's term going?" 

He sounded like an elderly uncle, asking questions he didn't really care about the answers to. Charles could hear in his voice that what he wanted to say was inhibited by the presence of the driver. Stiffly, Charles said, "Fine...and yours?"

Shrugging, Erik made a little _meh_ sound. “It’s fine. I thought of going back to Germany, but it’s not worth the trouble.”

Charles thought he hadn’t heard right. “W-wait, you _what_?” he stammered. “Why would you want to do that?”

“It doesn’t matter, does it? I’m not going.”

“Well, sorry if I don’t agree with you but, yes, it does matter!”

“Why?” Erik’s face darkened. “Who the fuck would care, Charles? I didn’t hear anything from you for over a month, so please excuse me if I thought it was best for me to just leave the fucking country and go back home!”

The music got a little louder at the front and dimly, Charles registered how the cab driver glanced at them worriedly every now and then. He took a deep breath, willing himself to calm down.

“All right. If you think so,” he muttered under his breath and averted his gaze from Erik to look out of the window. He wasn’t sure for how much longer he could stand being around him. “I’m glad you decided to stay, though. If you must know.”

“How fucking nice of you,” Erik hissed and looked out of the other window.

Charles could have sworn that he saw the cab driver heaving a sigh.

*

The rest of the journey passed in strained silence. When they got back to Oxford, both Charles and Erik got out on Broad Street -- Oxford traffic being what it was, there seemed little point in sitting in the cab any longer. They had no luggage, and could have walked home faster. Charles's shoulders were stiff as he climbed out of the car. Beside him, Erik was watching him; Charles could feel it. Erik's eyes on him. 

"What?" he muttered awkwardly, as Erik started up towards the top of the street. Erik shrugged. 

"Nothing." 

"You're thinking something; I can see it on your face." 

Erik laughed softly. "And since when do you care what I think?" 

Charles sighed. "Since now, Erik. Since always. Why do you --"

Erik broke in, turning around abruptly. "I want to fuck you. How's that?" 

Charles was brought up short. He blinked helplessly. "What?" 

Erik's mouth curled. "You asked me what I was thinking. Is that what you wanted to hear? I want to fuck you. I've had a hard day and a confusing time, and I want to take you home and fuck you till you scream. I can't look at you without wanting to kiss your stupid pretty mouth. I want you like I've never wanted anyone. There. Do you feel better now?"

It took him a moment to realise what Erik had said -- part of him feeling filthy and guilty as though the few pedestrians around them knew that they were brothers -- and when he replied, it came out as a weak chuckle. “Not exactly, no.”

“Let me make you feel better then, Charles.” Erik came closer, reaching out for his hand but Charles quickly stepped out of Erik’s way.

“Erik. Don’t.”

There was hurt in the other man’s eyes, Charles could see it and Charles hated himself for making Erik feel that way. How he wanted to give in and say yes, just forget about everything nasty that had ever happened between them and tell the world to fuck off.

“Please, don’t make me beg.”

“That’s an oxymoron.”

“I know,” Erik smiled slightly, _hopefully_ even, and, God, Charles could feel his determination slip through his fingers like sand. It was frustrating. He needed to leave while he was still capable of acting wisely.

“Erik, it’s late. I...I can’t. I’m sorry.”

“Fine. I’ll walk you.”

 _Correction_ , Charles thought as he ran a hand through his hair, letting out an aggravated sigh. _This is a fucking nightmare._

They walked together in heavy silence. Christ Church had never seemed so far away as it did now. Charles could feel the weight of Erik's breathing, the warmth of his shoulder against Charles's. Outside the lodge, they stopped, and Erik took Charles's hand before he could protest. 

"Let me come in with you." His voice was impassioned, insistent, his grip fierce on Charles's wrist. Charles turned his face. 

"Erik -- no. We can't. You know we can't." 

Erik laughed bitterly. "What, it's 'wrong'?" He rolled his eyes. "You can't honestly believe that." 

Charles inhaled sharply, half a sob. Once again, Erik's confidence only made him feel smaller, less of a man for being unable to reject the world the way Erik apparently could. "How can you not believe it?" he hissed. 

"Charles." A second later, Charles was pinned to the wall, Erik's big hands firm on his shoulders. Charles gasped for breath; a moment later, Erik's mouth was on his, and fuck, it was good, sinfully good; why did kissing Erik have to be so fucking amazing? Charles felt his eyes roll back in his head, and it took every ounce of strength in his body to reach up and push Erik off. 

"Erik, _stop_." Charles's mouth was still tingling. He could see that Erik's eyes were wet. "Goodnight. Okay?" 

Erik only looked at him levelly as Charles turned and walked away, his heart like a lump of cold stone in his chest. 

*

“Stay right where you are, Xavier, you lying bastard!”

He hadn’t even managed to turn his keys to his door when Raven’s voice boomed from down the hall, taking him by surprise and making him flinch.

“Raven…?” He slowly turned towards her and instantly noticed the determined look on her face, her stride swift and confident.

“I saw you, Charles! I saw you and Erik!” He wasn’t sure whether she was angry or complacent about it but he hoped it was the latter.

He forced himself to look at her, hoping to whatever almighty force was out there that she didn’t have a clue about his and Erik’s relations. “So what?”

“So what?” She laughed, her head thrown back. “He just pinned you to the fucking building, Charles, I -- I swear to god, if he had ever done such a thing with _me_ , if he had been chasing my skirt like this, I wouldn’t have ever let him go.”

Charles gave a grunt as a reply as he tried to suppress the memories, the fact that Erik’s taste was still lingering on his lips. Quickly, he opened his door as if to escape Raven but she followed him immediately into his room.

“I don’t know what your problem with him is, Charles but… Why? I mean, has he hit you or anything?”

“What?” Charles grimaced at the absurdity of the question. “Fuck no, of course he hasn’t.”

“Has he cheated on you or betrayed you?”

“No.”

“Has he hurt you in some other way?”

He sighed, feeling absolutely drained of all power he might have possessed before, and sat down on his settee. Raven joined him.

“So, you see, if he has never done anything wrong -- except for, you know, fucking you behind my back because he fell for your god-awful pick-up lines since I can’t think of any other explanation -- why do you deny this to yourself?”

"It's just…" He breathed out slowly. "I went to stay with him, with his family. I loved them. They're amazing. And I don't…" He hesitated. "I don't want them to hate Erik on my account." 

"Hate Erik?" Raven raised an incredulous eyebrow. "If they're that amazing, Charles, surely they're not going to be massive homophobes?" 

"No, no." Charles sighed. "I just...I'm panicking, Raven, okay?" 

"Charles." Raven took both of his hands in his. "I promise you, there's no reason to panic. If they love Erik, they'll want him to be happy. And if they want him to be happy, and he's happy with you…" She shrugged. "You already said you love them, they must like you too. What's the problem?" 

"God." Charles buried his face in his hands. If only everything was as straightforward as it was in Raven's vision of them. "I...I can't explain." 

"But you love him." Raven's face was very earnest, and Charles couldn't look away. 

"Yes." 

"And he loves you, I know it." She raised her chin defiantly. "He wouldn't have kissed you like that if he didn't. Charles, I don't give a shit what other issues you have, I don't care if you can't or won't tell me. They can't be more important than that. He kissed you like…" She broke off, shaking her head. "Like someone at the climax of a romance novel. Like most people never get kissed in their whole lives. That's the real deal, Charles. You can't just throw that away because of -- because of some _issue_ you're having. Because of some _panic_." 

His breath was coming fast, now. He could feel his pulse racing in his throat. God, why did Raven have to be so goddamn black and white about everything all the time? Part of him wanted to tell her the whole truth, shock her into submission, but another part of him feared she'd carry on all the same with her attitude, _fuck 'em all, love is all you need._ Maybe part of him was afraid that all he'd need would be to hear that, and he'd be lost, adrift in Erik. 

Charles bit his lip. His mouth still tasted of Erik, the imprints of Erik's fingers still on his shoulders. 

"Okay," he said, at length, his voice shaking. "Okay." 

“Are you… Are you all right, Charles?” Raven placed a gentle hand upon his shoulder, the look of her face showing concern. “You look a bit pale. You’re not going to have a heart attack, are you?”

“No,” he let out a shaky breath, covering her hand with his. “I just -- I’m just trying to think of a way to fix this.”

“Well,” she smiled, leaning in with a glimmer in her eyes. “I suggest you go to his and tell him that you want his babies?”

“Raven, _please_ , this is not some cheesy 90s romcom with Hugh Grant.”

“True, but at least _he_ got all the girls in the end.”

“Point taken.”

They smiled at each other and for the first time in weeks, Charles felt something that resembled hope welling up inside him. He pulled Raven into a tight hug and thanked her.

“Since you’re almost like a substitute brother to me, it’s my duty to look out for you.”

While he could see why she’d use that comparison, he couldn’t stop himself from cringing. Raven thankfully didn’t notice; she merely got up from his couch to stretch her body.

“Anyway, I’m off. It’s fucking late and since I’m not taking any money for playing marriage counsellor, I'd better be off to bed now.”

He escorted her to the door, and just when she was about to step out into the hall, Raven turned on her heel, giving Charles a stern look.

“Think about what I said. It’s up to _you_ now to fix this, Charles. I don’t know what it is with you and Erik but...I can’t even be mad at you anymore for having stolen him from me. You’re a good match.”

With a half-hearted smile, he embraced her once more, pressing a light kiss to her cheek, and watched her walking down the hall to her room.

Once he was back inside his rooms, he paced back and forth, restless and too agitated to even think of sleeping now. For one mad moment, a thought flickered across his mind. Maybe…

Chewing on his bottom lip, he checked the time on his phone -- 9:14 PM.

With a wry smile, he shook his head at Raven as he remembered what a great show she'd put on when she had announced how tired she was. It wasn’t late. It wasn’t late at all.

He looked around in his room, found his coat hanging over the backrest of his couch and grabbed it.

Yes, it was wrong. It was _insane_ , even. Charles was perfectly aware of it.

But he also knew that he’d never find himself anyone as perfect as Erik ever again. He and Erik...they were meant to be. Erik was right. Society could just go hang. Erik and him...they were the real thing. 

He'd never run across town as fast as he ran this night. The air whipped cold around his ears; he pulled up the hood of his hoodie (rarely actually used) and ducked his head, picking up his pace as he powerwalked down Cornmarket, past the beggars outside McDonald's, past the uneasy darkness of the side streets. Soon enough, he was at the big front gate of St John's, and his chest heaved as he pulled himself up to the porter's desk. 

"Erik Lehnsherr," he said, breathless. "He's...expecting me." 

It was a lie, of course, but it was late, and the porter only shrugged and waved a hand. 

"Go on, then." 

Charles didn't wait to be asked twice. He turned on his heel and ran, tearing through the labyrinthine quads of the college until he found the building where Erik lived, four floors up in a room that faced outward onto Parks Road. 

"Erik," Charles was muttering to himself, as he mounted the stairs. What if Erik turned him away? What if Erik had changed his mind? But God, Charles remembered Erik's face, the anger he'd seen there at the idea that anything as stupid as societal taboos should keep him and Charles apart. Erik had been adamant about it. Erik was _proud_. 

He knocked on the door. The fumbling and stumbling around inside was audible, and Charles bit his lip on a grin when he heard Erik cursing to himself in German, tripping over his own feet. God. Erik was so...everything about him made Charles want to hug himself and smile, pull Erik to him and kiss him all over his face. He loved him. He _loved_ him. All at once, the full realisation hit him like an anvil. 

When Erik opened the door, Charles could hardly breathe. He licked his lips, flexed his fingers awkwardly in his pocket. "Erik." 

Erik surveyed him quietly for a moment. He looked edible, all broad shoulders and snake hips, jogging pants hanging loosely off his pelvic bones. "What are you doing here?" 

Charles didn't pause to think before he threw himself forward. Erik was so warm, so familiar a bulk, and Charles couldn't hesitate a moment longer; needed to be in his arms, pressing his mouth to Erik's throat, his cheek. His mouth. After a second, Erik turned his face, and then they were kissing, God, the most perfect kisses still that Charles had ever experienced, Erik's hand carding through Charles's hair over and over, desperate. 

They were stumbling into Erik’s flat, Charles barely noting how Erik kicked the door shut while his hands were occupied with roaming over Charles’s body, holding on to him, clutching him as though he was worried he just might change his mind again and vanish.

Somehow, they made it into Erik’s bedroom and when Erik landed on the mattress first, Charles realised that it had been him who did all the pushing. He felt strangely energised, giddy even as he watched Erik’s eyes go wide and his mouth quirk up into a smile.

“You sure about this?” he asked nonetheless as Charles carelessly discarded his jacket and scrambled onto Erik’s lap, cupping his face with both his hands.

“Shut the fuck up, Erik,” he breathed, and then kissed him again, deep and hungry and, fuck, he had missed this so much.There was nothing graceful about it, Charles's fingers trembling as he tangled them in Erik's hair, their kisses messy and breathless. Erik's cock was thickening in his loose jogging pants, firm hard curve against Charles's arse, and Charles ground down against it, licked the hot groans from Erik's tongue. A moment later, Erik's hands were yanking at Charles's t-shirt and hoodie together, hauling up the fabric in fistfuls, and Charles leaned back just enough to wrench all of it over his head, tossing it carelessly aside. When he looked back down, Erik was watching him dark-eyed and hungry, his hands sliding up Charles's body to thumb at his nipples. Charles shivered; remembered all at once the mark Erik had left on his throat, how thrillingly _owned_ he'd felt. Claimed. He was Erik's, and Erik was his, and lust spiked in Charles's stomach at the prospect of claiming Erik like that, too, marking him. 

"Charles," Erik whispered, and Charles only hesitated a moment before he was on him. 

It was as if his animal mind had taken over. Dimly, Charles was aware of Erik beneath him on the bed, back arching sinuously at Charles bit at his nipples, his throat, nipped along the line of his clavicle to the hollow of his neck. Erik was gasping, clutching at Charles's back, and between the two of them, stupid things like jeans and pyjama trousers were wrestled out of the way until they were naked together, rutting against each other with the desperation born of weeks apart. Erik's cock was slick and straining and Charles arched down against it, riding the shaft of it, letting Erik fuck the hollow of his thighs while he sucked at Erik's throat until the blood bloomed up in the shape of his mouth. 

"Charles," Erik was gasping, big hand fumbling for Charles's cock, but Charles tossed his head helplessly, _nonononotyet_. He laid his hand over Erik's, drew it gently down between his own thighs, and the sound Erik made was like nothing on earth. 

"Let me," Charles panted, rubbing himself against Erik's hand, as if he could fuck himself on Erik's fingers just like this, just the way they were. "I want to -- Erik --" 

"God, yes, yes." Erik's voice broke over the words; he was fumbling for the Vaseline on his nightstand, stupid little handbag-sized tin that made them both giggle breathlessly before Erik's hands were coated in it and he had two fingers in Charles and neither of them was laughing then. 

This time, somehow, it was easy. It was as if, now Charles had made his decision, his body had given over entirely to it, muscles yielding to Erik's fingers until they were both whimpering and Erik was rubbing at his inner walls and the slick head of his cock was trailing wetness against Charles's inner thighs. Then Charles's hand was firm at the base of him, lifting himself on his knees, pressing the head of Erik's dick -- just -- there…

They both groaned as Charles sheathed himself, felt the raw heat of Erik sinking into him, filling him entirely. A moment later, Erik was reaching for him again, pulling Charles down into his arms, and Charles went willingly. Erik's kisses were clumsy, now, open-mouthed and gasping, but Charles's body seemed to know what it wanted as he rode Erik's cock, hips working restless little figure-eights as Erik shivered and bucked and thrust up into him. It was formless, nothing more than rutting, really, but Charles trapped and leaking between their bellies and Erik was grinding against his prostate and it was all Charles could do to bury his face in Erik's shoulder as he came. Under his mouth, the bruise was dark and sure, and Charles licked over it, tongued at it while Erik seized up and came in frantic pulses, fingernails digging crescents into Charles's skin. 

In the aftermath of their desperate reunion sex, Charles continued to lie on top of Erik even long after Erik’s cock had gone soft and slipped out of Charles. It was comfortable like this, Erik’s big graceful hand tenderly stroking up and down Charles’s spine while Charles nuzzled at Erik’s throat, pressing light kisses to it every now and then. They were so quiet that it seemed almost alien when Erik finally spoke: “What changed your mind?”

Sighing, Charles lightly scraped his fingernail across Erik’s collarbone. “Believe it or not, Raven did.”

“What?” There was a huff against his forehead, and again, and suddenly Erik was laughing. Charles found himself grinning.

“I’m serious. Not half an hour ago, she gave me a pep talk.”

“So she _knows_?”

“Well,” he made a face, “not entirely, of course not. Hank must have told her that we were together and...surprisingly, she’s okay with it.”

“And you, too, although you’re my baby brother?”

“Oh Erik, please. Not again.”

“I’m sorry, Charles.” Pressing a kiss to Charles’s forehead, Erik hugged him closer and turned them both over so Charles was underneath him. As Charles looked up at him, the other’s face seemed so open and sincere that Charles felt his heart swell.

“Don’t worry,” Charles swallowed as he reached up, cupping Erik’s face. “I won’t freak out again. Well, maybe occasionally...but I’ve mostly come to terms with it.”

“Terms with what?”

“That you’re _it_ , Erik.”

“So you’re staying?”

“Well, you’re not going to get rid of me now, one way or another.”

“I think _you_ wanted to stop talking about it?”

“Sorry, when I talk about Biology I tend to forget about my inhibitions.”

Smiling at each other, Charles was certain he had made the right decision, socially unacceptable or not. He even felt a little rebellious thinking that society could kindly fuck off. Erik’s demeanour must have rubbed off on him.

* 

The day of Erik's graduation dawned bright and sunny, to Charles's very great relief. He'd seen plenty of rainy, windswept graduations, people trooping to the Sheldonian like slow-moving clumps of umbrellas with feet, and he didn't particularly fancy doing that with Erik's parents in tow. 

Erik's parents. He knew objectively, of course, that Jakob was not just Erik's father. But he was Erik's _Dad_ , not Charles's. And over the time that he and Erik had been together -- even since their first visit to Germany, before they'd ever done anything sexual -- Erik's parents had treated him with the sort of warmth Charles had never known. A small part of Charles had been anxious about telling them about the developments in their relationship, not wanting to chance losing their affection, but he needn't have worried. Edie threw her arms around him immediately and said a lot of flattering things about having such a handsome and accomplished potential son-in-law. Jakob's reaction had been slightly less enthusiastic, but he'd smiled and cuffed Charles in a one-armed hug. Erik had been grinning fit to burst. And if they'd had slightly frantic, giggly sex in Erik's childhood bed that night, well...everybody was entitled to a little bit of incest kink occasionally. 

By this point, Jakob and Edie were just a fact of Charles's life, and as he sat with them in the Sheldonian, watching Erik in his ridiculous, amazing graduation robes, he knew they were all feeling the same thing: pride. Erik was grinning with all his teeth as he waved up at them, and Edie clasped Charles's hand as she waved back. 

"Our handsome boy," she said. Charles squeezed her hand back and agreed.


End file.
